#this song will be criminally slept on i fear

[sluttybibuck]

🗣️🗣️🗣️ WHAT IF HE’S WRITTEN “MINE” ON MY UPPER THIGH ONLY IN MY MIND 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[railingsofsorrow]

you are in love (taylor's version)

[spencer reid x reader]

SONG INSPIRATION » YOU ARE IN LOVE (TAYLOR'S VERSION) by taylor swift

summary: moments in which you realise you love him, but he has no idea.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 2.4K

warnings/content: friends to lovers trope; angst because spencer is an oblivious idiot; case related discussion; fluff I promise; a whole paragraph in italics means it's a flashback.

A/N: sorry for the delay to post this I've been busy. hope you like it, have a great day <3

[part of the “taylor swift anthology”]

navi

masterpost

taylor swift anthology

criminal minds masterlist

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❝ morning, his place 

burnt toast, sunday

you keep his shirt 

he keeps his word. ❞

“I thought we agreed that you were not allowed in the kitchen.”

Your voice startles Spencer for a second. He flinches while trying to pull the slight burned toast out of the toaster. Your mouth is pulled into a grin as you notice his messy curls on the top of his head, his hands working fast on turning the tap on to diminish the burning sensation on his fingers.

“I am not that terrible.” Spencer hisses, pouting at his red fingertips. “I can make breakfast... I think.”

“Without setting yourself on fire? I seriously doubt that.” You tease him, approaching his hunched frame over the sink. With a soft touch on his shoulder, you take his hand on yours and lead it towards the water. You nudge him playfully. “Thank you for this, it smells great.”

Spencer lets out a huff in protest but the corner of his lips betray him. His heartbeat as fast as a racing car as if he had been running away from someone, all because of your touch on him.

Last night was a rough one for you.

You didn't feel particularly great after a case and you completely shut down anyone who tried to talk to you. That included Spencer, but you weren't able to delay your conversation as he invited you over for a movie night, a request you could tell he needed as much as you did, and you ended up sleeping over at his place as many other times before. However, this time, it was different.

Not because you slept in one of his shirts and his smell lingered near you on the bed during the night but because you sobbed into his chest and he held you into his arms, comforting your shaky frame as his hands traveled across your back and neck with the utmost care in the world.

Although physical touch wasn't his forte, Spencer didn't seem bothered to cling to you the whole night, and his touch was more than welcomed by you. You fell asleep in his bed, in his shirt and in his hold. It was the best night sleep you've had in months.

❝ and for once, you let go

of your fears and your ghosts

one step, not much

but it said enough ❞

“You think it could work out?” You asked him one day in the middle of your chess match on your way back home. Everybody else was dozing off while the two of you remained in your own little bubble. Tired but not enough to refuse a chess game.

Spencer moved one of his pawns forward, eyes traveling up to you questioningly. “What could work out?”

“You know,” you trailed off, biting your lower lip distractedly as you thought about your next move. You were going to lose anyway, might as well make the best of it to not be a total fool in front of Spencer. He'd get pretty smug after he won and though you can admit that you found it endearing, you hated losing. “Two members on the team in a committed relationship.”

“The fraternization policy—”

“Spence, c'mon.” You give him a short laugh. “Forget the stupid fraternization policy. I want to know if you think it could work out.”

He was silent for a moment, pondering over your request and you could tell he was probably gathering as many statistics as he could to provide you an answer. Truthfully, you don't know why you had asked that. Your previous conversation had initiated because you commented that you still had not found a dress to Derek and Savannah's wedding, you had no idea why it ended up on that question. You blamed exhaustion for your poorly choice of topic.

“It depends on who you're talking about.”

You shrugged, crossing your leg over the other. “No one in particular. I was just... thinking.”

“If they manage to be professional while at work then I don't see how it would be a problem.” Spencer concludes, the corners of his lips twitching as he notices your slip. He wins the match not long after. Not that you were surprised.

“Would you do it?” You were responsible for the disturbance of silence once again, but the question has been hanging over your head since your previous conversation. What if it was... us? Would it work out? Has it ever gone through your mind like it has with mine? “Actually, don't answer that. It's none of my business, I'm just sleepy and asking dumb questions.”

“Yes.” He answered after a beat, lifting his attention from the book to you. His gaze piercing into your curious one. “If it was worth it.”

❝ you can hear it in the silence ❞

“You don't have to apologize for rambling.” You said, throwing a pillow at him after he suddenly cut himself off, blushed bright red and apologized. “I like to hear you talk. All the time.”

“All the time?” Spencer raised a questioning brow as if he didn't trust your words. You can see why, given that most of the people you know rudely interrupt him in the middle of his speech about something he's passionate about.

You nodded, your mouth slowly stretching into a soft smile. “Yes. All the time. I mean it.”

His honey brown eyes scanned you for a long minute before he resumes his explanation about why Jung's ideas seemed to make more sense than Freud's. You listened to it, chipping in every now and then with a hum or a simple question. You'd do anything to keep him speaking, Spencer's voice was calming as observing the ocean on an empty beach. It's quiet and grounding. Peaceful.

❝ one night he wakes

strange look on his face

pauses, then says

you're my best friend

and you knew what it was

he is in love ❞

At some point, you drift off with your head leaning on his shoulder. His fingers carefully brushing stray strands away from your lashes. He was always so careful with you.

“You're my best friend.” You are able to hear. You don't move. You don't breathe. The following statement makes you glad you don't, because you wouldn't act with your head but with your heart and you didn't know if that was wise at that moment. “What if I love you a little more than that?”

❝ you can hear it in the silence ❞

There is a coffee cup waiting for you on your usual place at the roundtable one morning. The logo from your favorite coffee shop and you could practically taste the drink before it was even in your mouth.

He always knew your favorite order. And it seemed like he'd rather get you coffee from a place on the other side of town before work than actually exchange words with you.

A week after you slept over at Spencer's place, it all changed too quickly. He stopped answering your texts and proceeded to avoid you as much as he could during cases. You really tried to find the reason of why that could be happening. Did you do something? Did you overwhelm him in some way? But again, how was it fair to be treated so cold by your best friend if you didn't even know what you did?

So you don't apologize. You just treat him the same way. But you don't hold onto that coldness for long, because after the evening came around and you earned a busted lip and a concussion from an Unsub, Spencer finally seems to acknowledge your presence. He doesn't leave your side for the whole time the paramedic is examining you.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say, clenching your jaw after the paramedic finished their job. “Seems like you care for my wellbeing even if you're avoiding me.”

“Don't walk too fast. You still have a concussion.” He follows you as you walk towards the car. You turn around, too quicky for you liking cause your vision spins for a second until it focuses again. Spencer's about to say something, reprehend you, more likely, when you interrupt him with fury in your tone.

“And why do you care?” You fire at him. “It's not like you've been ignoring my entire presence for a week, is it?”

Spencer's widened eyes tell you he doesn't expect you to lash out like that.

“I- I haven't been ignoring you.” Spencer stumbles with words. Excuses. You let out a scoff, turn around and walk off to the second car Hotch would be driving. Rossi and Emily are talking amongst themselves when you enter the backseat and shut it without a second word.

Emily eyes both your figure inside the car and Spencer helplessly weighing his options of going after you or letting you go.

He decides on the latter, she observes as he retreates back to the other car where JJ, Derek and Blake are already getting ready to leave.

Upon arriving back at Quantico, the first thing you did was say your goodbyes to everyone and immediately head to grab your stuff on your desk, observing the remaining twenty manila folders for a split of second until you harshly decided on going home and finish them tomorrow.

“I am not avoiding you- Not, not on purpose.” Spencer clenches the strap of his satchel, watching you freeze as you are about to open your car door. You hadn't give it much thought when he left at the same time you did since you always parked close and he would probably ignore you again. You're tired of playing games, if he wanted to withdraw from your life without a reasonable explanation, then so be it. Well, at least for tonight. You need at least one good night sleep without Spencer Reid controlling your mind. “I'm sorry.”

You turn around quickly, not realising how close he is until both of you took a step back as if you have been burned. With pink cheeks from either the cold or embarassement, you cross your arms trying to get a grip on yourself, focusing on his shoulder rather than his eyes.

“Why are you apologising?”

Silence envelopes the two of you and you actually think he had walked away and you had been left by yourself in the parking lot without an answer. However, when you lift your gaze, you're met with soft brown eyes studying you with awe.

He doesn't look away when he realise you caught him staring. Spencer is tired of avoiding you. Avoiding this.

“I was a coward.” Spencer let out a shaky breath. “I was scared and-and that made me a coward. I never wanted to cause a rift in our friendship-”

“It's too late for that, Reid.”

Spencer flinches as if he's been slapped. You hold back your wince. You don't mean to be cruel with your words but your lack of sleep and stress from the last case were making you feel sick of interacting with another human being. Even Spencer, who you would never get tired of. Maybe his childish behavior had contributed to that.

Don't call me that. You never call me that.

He takes one step closer and then one more towards you.

“I have feelings for you.” Spencer breathes out as if he's been holding it for a while — well, he had. “I didn't know how to— I didn't want to lose you and I was terrified to do something that—” his stuttering is enough for you to see how nervous he was. You have no idea where it all came from, but there wasn't an ounce of hesitation as he confessed and his eyes glint with a newfound determination. You suck in a deep breath as he says the next words. “I love you as more... as more than a best friend.”

“You're my best friend.”

“What if I love you a little more than that?”

“... so I avoided you because I didn't want to ruin us. I... I'd rather be your friend than lose you for good. Did I ruin that too?”

What if it was... us? Would it work out?

“For an IQ of 187 you sure can be dumb sometimes.” You utter in disbelief, all of the cold of the night giving place to the warmth of a familiar feeling bumping through your chest.

Spencer gives you a puzzled look, hurt flashing through his gaze. “What?”

“Spencer,” you let out in a whisper, seeking for his hand slowly. “do you remember when I asked you if two people in the team could work out in a committed relationship?”

A frown etches into his forehead.

“Yes,” he answers carefully.

You bite back a smile, fingers raising from his arms to his shoulders until you can reach the back of his neck. Spencer is focused on your eyes, completely hypnotized.

“You told me it could work out—

“... If it was worth it.”

“... if it was worth it.” Your lips quirk up as his hands lower to fit perfectly around your waist. Your noses barely touching. Personal space becoming a an unknown language between the two of you. “Well, I happen to think this is very much worth it and it wouldn't ruin anything.”

His eyes lower to your lips for a short moment. “It wouldn't?”

“No. Mostly because I haven't exactly been discreet about it and I have no idea how you didn't realise but... I love you too, Spencer.”

His eyes snap to yours, hands tightening instinctively around your waist which made you slightly weak in your knees. “You— what? How?”

Raising a brow in amusement, you smirk, “you're asking me how I love you?”

“I—no. I don't— I just didn't... expect that.” I can see that. “You feel the same? You have feelings for me?”

Your exhale, caressing his cheek fondly. “Yes, Spencer.”

Spencer. Not Reid.

Spencer.

His gaze once again falls to your parted lips. “Then I was an idiot.”

You chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Pretty much. Yeah.”

A large grin spreads across his mouth, so wide you'd think it might split his pretty face in two. God, you missed that. You missed him. Everything about him.

❝ you are in love. . .

“Can I kiss you?”

You scoff, pulling him closer by the tie, “Finally, I thought you'd never make a move.” Then your lips crash as if you are two people starved for weeks and the only thing keeping you alive is each other.

true love. ❞

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid; @yeonalie

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning!  I hope you slept well and feel rested?  Currently sitting in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Yesterday, I had the luxury of a post-breakfast nap.  Between 8.30-9.30 a.m.  One of my favourite naps!  To use a football analogy, almost like sleep extra time.

My beautiful friend Amanda O’Riordan (married to former Kiss colleague and now Mi-Soul presenter, Judge Jules) posted these profound words.  “How to stay together no matter what: 1. Stay together, 2. No matter what.”  A deceptively simple observation.  Have you ever tried stay together no matter what?  Couples break up all the time!  Hundreds of couples break up or separate EVERY DAY!  For a wide variety of reasons.  Now, how many of those couples regret that decision months/years later?  How many?  Put a number on it.  10%?  20%?

My birthday was November 2nd but I’ve found a cool way of prolonging the celebration.  I still haven’t opened all my presents!   Most of them are still in my study unopened!  Makes it seem like it was my birthday yesterday every day!  I promise I’ll open them before Christmas Day!    

Have you ever met someone that is a habitual criminal?  They don’t just commit the occasional crime, their go-to solution is always criminal activity.  Almost like they wake up in the morning and think, “How can I be dishonest today?”  Almost like they wake up and think, “Work is for suckers!  I’m going to steal what doesn’t belong to me.”

So cool to get messages from Bandcamp saying that people have downloaded songs from the second Dazzle album that I co-wrote.  Co-writing the songs on that second album was one of the highlights of my life.

My mum is worried about me.  Yes, my mother is worried about her 65-year-old baby.  She thinks I work too hard.  I said to her, “Yes, I am busy but I quite like it!  My brain is functioning at a high level and I fear, if I were to do nothing, my brain would turn to mush!  I work hard but I ensure I get enough sleep.  I never get colds or flu and long may that last!”  Her reply to me, “You are a good boy.”

Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday.  I love you all.

[glassartpeasants]

That ending was a stab on the heart from beginning to end I'm gonna steal bob 🏃🏾‍♀️

The One That Got Away

Shigaraki x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, death

A/N: Don’t threaten Bob

~~~

The bed felt different after that night.

2 months ago you had caught Shigaraki cheating on you with someone random woman. You stood in the doorway just watching, trying to find the words to say but nothing came out. It’s only when you dropped your groceries and your present to him is when he noticed your presence.

*flashback*

“Shit! (Y/N) it’s not what it looks like-” He tripped over his words. You said nothing as you just looked at him, knowing that no matter how much you loved him that there was nothing that could ever make you forget this.

“Fuck just say something!” You were still silent as you dropped the groceries you were holding. It just wasn’t clicking for you. How could he do this to you? what had you done wrong?

“What did I do wrong?” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the room. Nobody said anything. Until she spoke up.

“Oh my god, Im so sorry! I didn’t know he was taken! Please forgive me.” The girl spoke as she jumped outta bed and started putting her clothes on.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.” Those words spilled from your mouth before you could actually say anything you meant. The girl had hugged you before saying she was so sorry a final time. Flipping off Shiggy on the way out.

“(Y/N)...i promise we can talk about this.” You just kept looking at him. Those eyes seemed to burn into his soul. He doesn’t think you noticed the tears spilling from your eyes. He was about to say something to you but you started to walk towards him. Thinking he was gonna get hit he just stood still before feeling your part of the bed dip.

He turns around to see you laying there, eyes still open with tears rushing down your face, your clothes of the day still on your body.

Shigaraki tried to put his arms around you but you had hit his hands back. and used your feet to push him to the edge of the bed while you laid clung to the wall.

*flashback over*

Thinking back on it you don’t know why you didn’t just walk away. Maybe you were to tired from being busy and running errands for him all day? Did you want it to be a bad dream and hope to walk up to realize nothing ever happened? Whatever the reason was, you weren’t sure but a part of you wishes that you left that night.

Now you sit at the bar, sitting far away from what use to be your boyfriend, not even taking a glimpse of him and he knew it. You just sat in the corner drinking and looking on your phone until a familiar smell approached you. 

“Oh hey Dabi.”

“Hey there (Y/N), why aren’t you hanging out with crusty over there? He keeps staring at you and the tension in here could be cut with a knife. It’s been two months and apparently everyone said i should ask what's going on.”

“Im not going near him at the moment. We’re on a break per say.” this seemed to peak Dabi’s interest as he leaned closer.

“Oh? Did crusty do something?  Your secret's safe with me, i swear on my soul.” What did it matter if you told Dabi? He already doesn’t respect Shigaraki so why not, plus, so what if that fuck didn’t want anyone knowing, he shouldn’t have cheated when everyone else was sleeping in the base.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you but, 2 months ago I caught Shigaraki cheating on me...” You felt small tears prickle the corner of your eyes. Bringing your hand up to your face you rub it away, hoping to ignore the pain that was banging against your chest.

“What a dick, wanna make him pay?” You look up at Dabi who had a huge grin on his face. You thought about it for a good few seconds before shaking each others hand.

“Once Shigaraki goes out on that mission today, we’ll talk more.” Dabi said before getting up from his seat and grabbing a drink from the bar.

You didn’t know what Dabi had planned but you hoped it would bring Shigaraki the same pain you felt that fateful night 2 months ago.

~~~

You sat on the ground in Dabi’s room as he paced back in forth, coming up with revenge plans. All of them sucked or ended up with you guys might going to Jail.

“New plan, everytime Shigaraki wants to hang out tell him you had plans with me and leave the room. You can go somewhere and i’ll go somewhere with you. Effectively ditching him.” Thinking, you try to come up with all the pros and cons this proposal Dabi shared with you. But soon your hurt over ruled the logical side of you and you agreed to it not a moment later.

“Great! Now all we need is for Shigaraki to ask to hang out with you. Don’t know how long that’ll take though...”

“I usually ignore him after what happened but sometimes he asks to hang out with me whenever its a slow day at the base or if he’s bored.”

“ Well guess we have to wait tell then huh?” Nodding your head, you get up before putting a thumbs up in his direction. You walked out of his room and see Shigaraki sitting at the bar. He must have finished his mission early. You rolled your eyes before sitting on the other side of the bar counter. You could feel shigaraki look at you through father.

“Hey....”

“.....”

“Look im sorry, a-and i know that doesn’t excuse what I did but please-” You got up before he could finishing his sentence as you walked towards your shared bedroom. Going in there use to give you comfort but now everytime you step into that room you see that fateful night over and over again.

You sat on the bed before hearing Shigaraki’s footsteps coming towards the room. Furrowing your brows, you ignore him as you put your shoes on. You needed a little bit of fresh air so you were planning on going to the local park to relax a bit. You weren’t a villain like the rest of them, you were just a simple civilian. Not that you minded really. It was peaceful not fearing for your life everyday and having the fear of failure not on your shoulders.

You didn’t really have a quirk so you just ignored the questions when people asked you if you had one. 

“Can I talk to you?” You were dragged back to reality when Shigaraki’s voice rang through your ears. Annoyed you just answered hoping that the conversation would be short. 

“What do you want?” You voice was snappy and you could feel the venom dripping from it.

“I understand that your mad. And you have every right to be but your not even giving me a chance to redeem myself and-”

“Redeem yourself? Why the hell would I do that? YOU cheated on ME. LIke hell im gonna forgive you so easily.”

“It’s been two months! What happened was in the past!”

“It was in the past my ass. How would you like it to see your lover in bed with another?!”

“I-”

“I felt like my soul died that day. I thought I was your only one! Only to find out that you slept with her! Was she a one time thing or were there more hookups?!” You stood up from the bed as your fists turned white and your anger slowly erupting.

“.....”

“TELL ME DAMNIT!”

“Three...there were three different occasions...” Now the tears were kicking in. You were hoping that it wasn’t true. What if there was more and he was only saying three just to ease your heart?

“Why? Why would you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?” Your questions were like knives stabbing into Shigaraki’s heart. He wanted to tell you the truth, but he didn’t want your heart to hurt more than it already was.

“Im not going to ask again Shigaraki. You either tell me the truth or I will walk out of this base and never come back.”

“The...the first time it was a drunk accident, the second time Dabi had brought her to the base and one thing led to another. The last one was the same as the second one.”

“Did...did Dabi know about the affair?” You were begging, no pleading for him not to have known. You didn’t know if your heart could take it.

“Yes...” That was it. That was the thing that broke you. Walking up to Shigaraki you pushed past him before flipping him off and saying one final line.

“I would rather die that ever be with you again.” And with that, you left the hideout. You speed walked through the alleys to get to you parked your car. Your friends house was pretty far and you didn’t feel like walking in the dead of night were criminal activity was more active. 

Getting in your car, you turn on the radio and start breaking down. Your tears were blurring your eyesight as you put the car in drive. 

The streets weren’t busy except for the occasion car with some college students. Or drunk people walking along the sidewalk. The sound of the radio blasting songs that were supposed to be happy barley brightened up your mood as you drove down the dark highways.

All of a sudden a bright light hit your eyes from the right side. Some fuck must have had their brights on. But you had the right away so you went. All of a sudden a huge crash rang through your ears and the world became dark.

~~~

A ring came from Shigaraki’s phone. Looking at the clock he noticed it to be 2am. Annoyed he just decided to answer it.

“Hello, this is (hospital name). You were listed under a emergency contact for (Y/N) (L/N).” Shigaraki jolted awake as his hands reached his neck, standing up and already begun to pace the floor of his room.

“Yes did something happen?!”

“At 12am tonight miss (Y/N) was in a car crash. A hit and run to be exact. Their car was totalled after it rolled about 3 times from the speed that the driver hit them. A bystander of the accident called 119. They were in need of surgery immediately once paramedics noticed that they were crushed and bleeding out quickly due to a shard of glass that was stabbed in their chest.”

“Are they okay?!” The doctor on the other end went silent.

“Im deeply sorry for your lost sir. They died during surgery trying to remove the glass that was lodged in their skin. The police are on the look for the suspect. if you wish to see them were on (blank street). Once again, im sorry for your loss. Goodnight sir.” The phone went silent as the doctor hung up. 

Everything seemed to stop as the feared villain feel to his knees. Tears fell from his eyes as his body shook. He realized that now it was impossible to even try. And the last words you had ever said were ‘ you’d rather die than ever be with him again.’ Crying into his hands as his tears made a puddle on the floor.

I guess you took your words seriously.

[earlgreydream]

war.

| 1940s!bucky x reader | angst |

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, war, etc... general angst 

Your feet smacked the pavement as you ran. Your muscles felt like they were burning in fire, but you kept going, terrified. Bombs crashed all around you, buildings crumbled, and the ground shook as if it were going to open up and swallow you. You almost wished it would. 

Gunshots popped and bullets whizzed past your ears. You made it to a rocky staircase, and you tried to run down when you tripped. You tumbled down the stone stairs, smacking against the ground, blood rising to the surface of your hands and knees. You swore, and before you could stand up again, the soldiers surrounded you. 

You screamed as your ankles were grabbed, and you were flipped onto your back. 

“Stop! it’s a woman!” A soldier called as your cloak was ripped from your body. You were hyperventilating, panic seizing you as you stared up at the American soldiers. The dagger sheathed in your belt was confiscated, and the men stared down at you. 

“Please!” you begged for mercy, your accent thickening in your desperation. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” The soldiers looked to their leader, the man who had yelled for them to stop attacking you. 

“We are not going to kill her!” He sounded angry.

“What if she’s a spy?”

“I’m not, I swear. My home was bombed, I was running in fear!” You cried, pleading with him for mercy. 

“We cannot leave her in the streets-”

“Of course not.” The Sergeant spoke to his soldier, wearing a uniform different than the others. You winced at a sharp pain in your side, and you looked down to see blood soaking through your dress. You began to feel lightheaded, but you were terrified to black out and be left at the mercy of the likely sex-deprived soldiers that were invading your country.

Your eyes grew heavy and you moaned in pain, gripping the wound on your side from hitting a rock in your fall down the stairs. 

“We need to get her to the medbay, come on!” 

The words echoed in your head as you were lifted by the leader, carried in his arms. You wanted to struggle and try to make a run for it, but you were far too weak and you had nowhere to go. 

“You’re safe, doll, I’m going to protect you.”

Your head dropped as you slipped into unconsciousness, limp in his arms.

Bucky stood over your unconscious body as the best medic treated your wounds. She wrapped your hands and stitched the gash on your side, and Bucky winced as he watched. 

“Will she be alright?” he asked the medic anxiously.

“Yes, she’ll be fine. I think she’s asleep from the shock.” The medic nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

She wrapped the wound on your side and left Bucky with some morphine to give you when you needed it, instructing him to monitor you. 

“Do you think she’s a spy, or a soldier?”

“No, there’s nothing that would suggest that. I think she really was just a victim-- collateral damage.” 

Bucky was alone with you, then. He sat beside his bed that you were currently sleeping on, in his private chambers, away from the men who wouldn’t be able to keep their hands to themselves with a pretty young girl unconscious. 

Your eyes opened slowly, and you looked around, disoriented. You tried to sit up, but weakly sank back against the pillows. You noticed him sitting beside you, and you looked down. You were now wearing loose pants, and an oversized t shirt-- an army green, from a soldier. 

“Did you-?!” You cried in horror. 

“No, no. The medic cleaned your wounds and changed you. She said you’re going to be fine!” Bucky assured you quickly, and you relaxed a bit. 

“Are you going to kill me? Or keep me as a prisoner of war?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. 

“No. You’re not a captive, or a war criminal.” He shook his head. He handed you a glass of water, and a piece of buttered bread and some blackberries. You accepted them with a quiet thanks, and he sat back, giving you space.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, and you gazed down at your lap.

“I’m James Buchanan Barnes.” 

You spent two weeks recovering in his quarters, while he slept on a cot, guarding you and making sure you slept and had plenty to eat and drink. He’d opened up to you in that time, telling you about growing up in Brooklyn, New York. He had been drafted into the war, not really wanting to go overseas and kill people, and hurt innocents in the process-- innocents like you. Bucky was consumed with guilt, and was growing fond of you. 

He wished that he could just leave, go back to America and take you with him.  He had learned that you weren’t any kind of enemy like others suspected. You were orphaned by the war, by your own people. Almost everyone you knew and loved had been lost in the bloodbath, and now you were alone, struggling for survival in what felt like an apocalypse. 

Bucky convinced you to get some fresh air, and go outside. You’d stayed hidden under his protection, feeling safer with him than you had in years, since the war started. 

“James...” 

“It will be fine.” 

You took a walk with him, holding his hand as you walked through the soft grass. You giggled as he picked a daisy, handing it to you with a smile. 

“Are you trying to impress me?” You asked, blushing as you looked into sweet grey eyes.

“Is it working?” He grinned boyishly at you, and you saw a glimpse of the real James, not the soldier. He leaned down and kissed you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. 

“I love you, Y/N” He smiled at the bright spot in the misery, the girl he began to wake up for. His gaze was filled with adoration as he looked at you, a rescue from the streets of a war-torn village.

“You’re not bringing that nazi bitch with us!” A soldier shouted, and Bucky was at his throat immediately. 

“Don’t ever speak about her that way!” Bucky yelled, pinning him to the wall by the throat, a gun pressed against his chest. 

“Stop!” You cried, trying to pull Bucky off, not wanting him to murder the soldier in front of you, and all his troops. 

“Sergeant Barnes, you cannot seriously think of bringing Y/N to the Danish border with us.” Steve, Bucky’s loyal friend asked, giving you a pathetic look.

“Shut up, of course she’s coming with us!” Bucky wrapped an arm around you, trying to calm your shaking.

“Sergeant, she’s a nazi.”

“She’s NOT!” Bucky fired off a shot, and you winced against him. The bullet sank into the wall, but you were sobbing with fear, memories of being shot at flooding your mind and taking over your ability to think. 

“Ever since she came, you’re not the leader you were. You’re not thinking clearly!” Steve argued with him as if you weren’t there. 

You already knew what everybody thought of you. There was no hiding it. To the Americans, you were just a nazi whore that Bucky kept around for sex, and nothing more. They didn’t know the way he kissed you, the way your eyes sparkled with joy at even the slightest bit of attention from him. When you had nightmares, Bucky read to you from one of his books, or sang a song softly from Ella Fitzgerald. 

There was no one else. Every day, every night, all Bucky could think about was you. Leaving the war, taking you back to America, and building a life with you. He thought of a brownstone in Brooklyn, buying you dresses and making a family with you. He wanted to spin you around and dance with you to records in your living room, and take you on dates to a drive-in-movie. He wanted you to be the last thing he saw at night and the first thing in the morning. He was in love with you. And you were in love with him.

But you couldn’t escape the slurs and hate of his colleagues, and dearest friends. You knew it would be nothing like what you would receive in Brooklyn, your accent and broken English giving you away. It would make Bucky an outcast too-- a former soldier who left the war for an enemy girl. He would be a disgrace. 

You knew you could receive asylum in Denmark, a country not plagued by the war like elsewhere. You’d be a refugee, but you could join their society safely, and build a real life there. You traveled with the soldiers, transported there safely. 

You laid in bed with Bucky, kissing him sweetly. He ran his fingers through your hair, your head on his chest. He talked about New York pizza, and you smiled, tracing shapes on his skin with your fingertips. His voice sounded so happy when he talked about a future with you, you felt like your heart was going to shatter. 

“I love you, James.” 

“I love you more than the stars, Y/N.”

You pretended to sleep, but fear and nausea kept you up all night. You didn’t stir as Bucky got up for an early meeting with an officer at the American Embassy in Denmark. 

As soon as he was gone, you were on your feet. You got dressed silently, slipping money and a knife into your clothes and pulling a coat on over it. Tears blinded you and made it more difficult, as well as struggling to be quiet in the dark so you didn’t catch the attention of Bucky’s soldiers. 

The sun had barely peaked above the horizon, the sky still mostly dark, and the world asleep. You broke into a run, escaping out the window in the back. You ran from the base, getting as far away as you could. Your heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, pain shooting through your chest. 

Nightfall, you made it to a home for female refugees, women left alone by the war. You were dirty and exhausted, and barely able to breathe. You had sobbed the entire day as you traveled, making it nearly to Århus. 

“Welcome. You’re safe now.” A danish woman said, embracing you as you were taken inside the safehouse. You broke down in her arms, screams of heartache ripping through your chest.

“Y/N! I’m home, doll!” Bucky called, opening the door. His brow furrowed in confusion upon finding an empty room. He went to the bathroom, checking to see if you were in the shower. He couldn’t find you, and he walked through the halls. 

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” He asked every soldier desperately, all of them shaking their heads. 

He went back to his room, finding a note written inside of the book cover on his bedside, left open. 

I love you. more than the stars. I hope you understand.

He screamed your name, dropping down to his knees, his head falling into his hands as he rocked back and forth. Steve ran in, dropping down and wrapping his arms around Bucky as he fell apart. Sobs wracked his body, his dreams falling apart, his lover slipping through his fingers. He had just gotten news that he could be honorably discharged in three months, to start a family with you. He came home to tell you that you just had to stick it out a little longer. The flowers he brought were discarded and littered amongst the floorboards. 

[purpleandsilver]

I Wish You Would

Title is a Taylor Swift song. Enjoy. This is part 1.

***

The night prior, Caleb slept in his bed. No, not in the way Jester would suggest in their casual conversations. Not in the way Essek had begun to fear thinking about, after realizing he was attracted to Caleb.

It took him a while, to figure that out. Or maybe it took him a while to become attracted to Caleb. Perhaps Essek grew closer to him in the cold, barren city of Aeor. Perhaps it happened in distance, when Essek was stuck at the outpost in Eisselcross, fearing for his life, far removed from his friends'.

Either way, Essek woke up in the room with an empty side of the bed. For the first time in his life, Essek had tranced with someone sleeping beside him. And then he woke up- alone.

What was he expecting?

He was expecting Caleb. He was expecting the wizard to wake up, run his hands through Essek's hair. Run his hands down Essek's cheeks, then blush. Then Essek would ask him why. Then Caleb would-

Essek pulls his knees to his chest. He closes his eyes and takes a heavy breath. He's glad to be there for Caleb. When nightmares keep the red haired awake, he is there. A short Message Or Sending away.

He falls back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling and clutching a hand over his heart. Get over yourself. You're a war criminal. Stop loving him, it's too dangerous.

What a fool he was. The logical part of his mind was not winning. Hadn't been for a while, if he was honest. His decision to stay with Caleb in the Empire was not logical. Turning himself in was. But the instinct to avoid death was a strong one. Not logical. Emotional.

Somewhere a cat meow.

A door opened.

Essek removed himself from the bed but did not face him. His pale violet fingers stayed on the blue sheets. He took a deep breath.

"Essek? Are you okay?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. An emotional choice.

Logic, once again failing him.

"I have feelings for you Caleb."

[laceymorganwrites]

Souvenir

Word count: 2,076

Pairing: Mikey x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, corruption

Summary: You´re a police officer, a bad one. Or a terribly good one. Depends on which side of the law you stand. Mikey is interested in you, so are you but it can´t be that easy, can it?

A/N: happy birthday to this maniac

Song inspo: Souvenir by Avril Lavigne

THIS CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS

It was a hot summer day, the sky was clear and the heat in the city unbearable. A vacation was definitely long overdue.

Your parents had a vacation home at the coast but they themselves were currently hiking in the mountains. You were against it, telling them to do something more relaxing, after all they weren´t the youngest anymore. It was always you who took care of them, that was how it was supposed to be, not the other way around.

However they didn´t see it that way, saying as long as they were alive they´d always support you and take care of you, you were all they had after all.

And yet they always said you were the one working too much. You really didn´t. You loved your job, but compared to everything they´ve done for you, everything they continued to give up to ensure you have the best life possible, it was nothing.

Of course you were grateful! How couldn´t you be? But it just always felt like it wasn´t enough, you wanted to do something for them too, yet you could never get the chance.

Being a police officer made your private and personal life very hard.

The reason you took this job was because you wanted to create a safer neighborhood for your parents. And you got so lucky, being just a regular officer taking care of small town thugs. Every time you hear about your colleagues working on taking down a gang, you shuddered.

They were the ones who lost their families first. Of course their work was noble and they were so brave but you just couldn´t bear the thought of losing your parents.

Sure, it was selfish, but they were all you had. What did you care whether some gang wreaked havoc in the city? Let them. You never cared about the city and its people anyway, never really having any friends that lasted.

However your station was assigned to take down the Bonten, every officer had to work on that, no matter what their job was before that. That really was the last thing you needed or wanted right now. And because you were you, you didn´t listen. You just kept doing your work, finding any excuses to go on a standard patrol, saying you´d look for their hideout or something. It was all bullshit.

“Fucking great… mom, dad, thanks for everything you did for me. If I don´t come home anymore, if you´ll never find my body: thank my idiot boss who thought it was a great idea to take out the most dangerous guys in town. Fuck him! Doesn´t he have a family he cares about? There´s an order in this city, he can´t just disrupt it, fucking asshole” you grumbled, a bad habit you had. Every time you were mad about something you had to say it out loud, though you didn´t care if people thought of you as the crazy lady who talked to herself. At least that way they stayed away.

You heard a small chuckle from one of the alleyways, turning around and laughing at the absurdity.

That, was how you met Mikey.

He wasn´t anything like you imagined and that made him scarier than anyone else you could ever dream of meeting. Something that surprised you was that he didn´t kill you on the spot, neither did he have his underlings do it somewhere else, a clean job like it was usual for them.

No, they kept you alive. More than that: they wanted you to cooperate with them. They knew you were on their side and wanted to keep them in the game so that your parents could live a peaceful life. So why should they kill you? Besides, Mikey always found that interesting. The fact that you, a normal citizen with the most boring job imaginable, you out of all people understood that the city needed Bonten to survive, to keep the peace. It was fascinating to him. Everyone else was still believing that gangs like theirs, ruthless criminal organizations, should be exterminated. But not you. You wanted to preserve them and had such a… stupidly admirable determination in your eyes.

Mikey couldn´t help but become infatuated with you. That was why he came to greet you personally, something he never did.

And that was how you started working together, you kept them updated on the investigation, got rid of some proof and evidence and nobody suspected a thing. You were so incompetent at this kind of work that it just worked. You were doing such a good job for them, it left Mikey speechless and actually for the first time in a long time did he feel something else than utter numbness. He liked watching you work, finding it so funny how you deceived everyone around you, you were just as ruthless as him.

But there was a difference between the two of you that kept him looking and coming your way: you did it out of kindness. You were a genuinely kind person, even to him, sometimes he hoped especially to him.

He didn´t like the thought of distractions like yourself but then again he was the boss, he could do whatever he wanted. He was still invincible.

Now the only question was: how did you go about having a crush? He never gave it much thought, you were different than the women he used for a distraction. He wanted to get to know you, but didn´t know how. That wasn´t something he could get as easily as everything else. But that just made it so much more fun to him.

You were so integrated in his life and in the gang by now that he asked you to be an official member, still working at the police station to help them out.

Of course you said yes. You weren´t stupid, this was the easiest and best decision in your life.

Now you were sure that your parents were safe, as if the Bonten would kill their own. Well they did, but only the traitors.

And you´d never be one, they knew that. Even the most skeptical ones out of the lot trusted you by now.

Mikey was… special to say the least. He was a ruthless leader like everyone told you but nobody told you about the broken parts, nobody told you that he covered up all of his pain and hurt with sleepless nights and bloody murder. Though their murder was anything but bloody, it was clean and calculated.

You liked it that way. It was even more cruel and very thought out. Still, he needed a break and everyone could tell. Of course nobody dared to say anything. Never defy me, that was the sole rule everything was based on.

Protect the king.

Especially Sanzu was loyal to him, not that the others weren´t but he was very suspicious towards you. That was why you stayed away from him, no matter what you said or did he always thought you were a spy and honestly if it weren´t for the others you were sure you´d be dead by now.

The only reason you weren´t was because Mikey told him explicitly not to.

To this day you wondered why that was. But you´d find out soon enough.

This morning Mikey told you that you´d be the one to dispose of any proof with him this time.

Which basically meant going to a vacation home as an alibi, it was near the port and in this time a lot of students were there too since it were holidays too.

Somehow the thought of being alone with Mikey excited you more than it should, it was dangerous, you knew that.

And even so…. Or maybe precisely because of that, you fell in love with him.

There was something about the unreachable nature of him, people couldn´t help but keep looking at the burning building collapsing. Your presence was the gasoline.

“I came here often as a kid” he explained when you two arrived at the house. It was in the woods, but still close to the beach and port. Perfect to get rid of proof.

You didn´t expect him to talk to you, least of all about private things. Then again maybe he just needed someone to talk to, someone who saw him as Manjiro and not the coldblooded gang leader.

Some would say you had a savior complex and maybe they were right but what was so wrong about feeling special when you were with him? About him sharing things with you he didn´t share with anyone else?

“Sometimes I wonder where it all went wrong…” he sighed, a sad smile on his face. You could tell how hard it was for him to even do that. It was tragic, really. But then again he had it coming.

Mikey wanted the world and he got it. Mikey was ruthless and always got his way, he didn´t care about anything else but power and bloodshed. There was this darkness inside of him that was consuming the little pieces that were still left of Manjiro.

“Would you change it if you could?” you asked, eyes grazing his slightly.

“Well I can´t so there´s no use talking about it” he mumbled, his eyes wandering to the surface your hand was resting upon.

Yours was so different than his… so soft and clean, so fragile.

His was calloused, had seen more blood than human warmth and was always cold because who would voluntarily touch it?

You.

His heart jumped slightly as he felt your fingers entangled with his own. This sensation was so foreign to him, he couldn´t help but smile slightly.

You made him do things he hasn´t in ages, smile and feel for instance.

“Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever” he mumbled, looking down.

He looked so tired, he always looked so tired. You wondered if he ever slept. Though you highly doubted it.

“Staying a day more wouldn´t hurt, right? I mean you have to be here once a year anyway, why not stay the night?” you suggested. Mikey smiled sadly, he could do it… he was the boss after all. But he feared that if he did he would never want to leave again. And then he wouldn´t.

“Hm...I guess you´re right...I knew it would be a good choice to have you work with us” he smiled slightly but there was his usual sadness and tiredness in it. You smiled back at him, shutting your brain off for a moment to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight hug. Because right now, all the other times, he just looked like he needed one.

And you were right, by the way he held onto you, the way he relaxed into your touch. He really needed this. It were moments like these were he wished that he could stay like this forever and just not go back to his life. But he chose this life and he won. He made it to the top. But as clichee as it sounded, that was also where it was the most lonely. If you weren´t there beside him he´d have given up on himself a while ago.

The darkness was so easy to control around you.

You smiled at him, going back inside and getting the job done.

The next day felt like you were in a different world. It felt like a normal holiday you both knew as children and never ever had since then. You two would eat together, watch the sunrise together, even play in the ocean a bit.

Mikey even gave you his shirt when you were cold.

“Keep it” he told you when you were packing away everything, the day was over faster than any of you liked. But it also felt like an eternity, like you could truly escape from everything.

“As a promise. Meet me here this time next year, no matter what happens, okay?” he asked, he had a gentleness in his voice that you didn´t recognize, but it must´ve been there all his life. The cruelness just suppressed it all the time.

“Okay, it´s a promise” you smiled, taking his shirt and putting it in your bag so that the others wouldn´t see. For now everything would return to normal, whatever it was that you two had would have to happen in secret, in your sanctuary.

[murderousginger]

Nothing at all to me

Tommy Shelby POV

Warnings: Angst? Sex. Messy mind. They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 1,747

This song requested by @babylooneytoonz

Special thanks to @pollyrepents for her help to sort out my brain ❤

He couldn't go to Lizzie. Not tonight.

He couldn't ignore the look of worry on her face or deal with her feelings right now. He didn't want to be nice or ruin whatever it was that held them together like it did. He didn't want pity or love.

No. 

Tonight he needed a whore. No strings attached; just his memories, the sex, and the money transaction. 

It was the first anniversary of the fundraiser that killed his wife. 

He had slept with plenty of women since Grace's death. He had his needs and he met them with lackluster and duty. Sex. Clarity. Back to work.

Back to taking care of his family and the many other families that depended on him.

Without Grace, he felt little joy. He had no one to reflect to that wouldn't judge him for his real thoughts. Grace was cut from the same rough cloth as he; she was just always better at hiding it from others.

Charlie was a constant reminder, a mirror of what he lost. He had never known love and heartache to fill so completely in one body, but there it was reflecting back at him from his son.

So he kept his distance. And he drank.

As the night grew longer, he kissed his son goodnight and passed him to Mary, the head maid. He sat in his office and drank as he always did. He whirled the whiskey in the glass, watching the amber liquid turn and coat the sides before he downed it completely. 

He had called the man earlier. She was expecting him soon. 

A brunette, Tommy had said, always a brunette. The days of blondes in his bed were over. None would ever compare again. 

As the clock chimed 11, he got up and put his coat on and stepped outside. The brisk air hit his face and made the slightest fog as he exhaled into the night. 

He would walk tonight. No need in taking a car that others could identify. Or to make one of the men drop him off and pick him up. A walk might do him good. Perhaps the air could break through his muddled mind.

It didn't, of course. His mind would always be a minefield of memories of war, blood, death. 

And her.

Her face flashed across his mind, sweet and angular and golden. Her perfume drifted across his senses and he swore he felt her hand upon his elbow. 

As soon as it was there, it was gone. The night felt colder.

He reached the door and knocked,  immediately hearing a honeyed answer. A madam opened the door with a coy smile and ushered him in quickly, leading him to one of the many bedrooms in the house. 

"Here you are, Mr. Shelby," she said in a hushed tone. "Laura is waiting for you inside. You need something else, don't hesitate to ask."

He nodded, enjoying the haze of his mind in the rushed movements. No time to think. No time to regret. 

The woman had dark kohl-rimmed eyes. It's the first thing he noticed when he opened the door. Her eyes were so dark and deep they could swallow him. Good.

The second thing he noticed was her naked body sprawled enticingly on the bed. She lay with her legs open, no fear or fake modesty. She knew what he wanted and made quick work of starting. 

Tommy stepped closer to the bed as the door closed behind him and was greeted by hands pulling him closer still. She bit her lip playfully as she tugged on his belt and undid his pants with ease. 

"Talking or no talking, sir?" She asked as she stared up from behind her lashes at him.

"No talking," he growled as his head bent back and she found more useful ways to keep quiet.

His hands found their way into her coarse hair as she bobbed and his eyes closed to focus on the warm wet sensation and block the rest of the world out. 

No business. No blood. Only pleasure.

She made quick work of him and he found himself pushing her head to him until she gagged. He pushed her off of him roughly until she was crawling backward on the bed. He crawled over her, grabbing her leg roughly to splay her wide as he thrusted into her, chasing the high. She moaned as his rhythm quickened and he pushed his face into her shoulder. 

One hand lifted her leg higher and the other pushed fingers into her mouth to quiet her as his eyes squeezed shut and he focused on the sensations. 

He would tip her extra as he left, guilt peeking around the corners of his mind, but for now all he wanted was the quiet and the pleasure. 

He could feel it rising in him, the high becoming nearly unbearable as he pounded into the woman. He came quick and hard.

Afterward, he lay in the uncomfortable bed, on the scratchy sheets not made for sleeping, and allowed the woman to curl around him. He needed the reminder of warmth. The grounding of another person who did not have the duties he had. He needed the reminder that other people lived just fine without him. 

He reached to the bedside table where his shirt had landed and withdrew a cigarette and lighter, placing the cigarette in the woman's mouth and lighting it as she inhaled his flame. He dropped the lighter back onto the table and plucked the cigarette from her mouth as she giggled.

A coo came from behind what he had thought upon entry was the curtains to a window. 

She froze, her eyes widening. 

He didn't want another person to look after. He didn't want another soul to worry about. 

He didn't want another mouth to feed. He didn't want another person to curse. 

She smiled guiltily as if she was caught. 

"Don't tell him, please," she scrambled to clutch his arm. "I'm not supposed to bring her, but she was so fussy I couldn't keep her home alone or else the neighbors would call the landlord. Can't have that again."

"Again?" Tommy murmured as he thoughtlessly patted her hand before pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. 

"I'll quiet her," she said quickly, getting up and disappearing behind the curtain. "I can't discount your fee, you've already paid the man, but I can provide extra service?"

Her words rang through Tommy's ears and burned. He heard the muffled whine of the baby and the woman's increasingly desperate pleas for it to calm. 

Before he knew it, he had walked to her with his hands outstretched to take the baby. She hesitantly obliged, allowing Tommy to bounce the baby against his bare chest, a hum escaping the side of his mouth that didn't hold his cigarette. The baby soothed. 

"Come Monday," he toned, "find yourself in my office. You know who I am. Talk to my secretary, Clara, and she'll get you set up for a day job and childcare."

"Mr. Shelby, I couldn't--"

"You didn't ask," Tommy exasperated, quickly regretting himself. 

He always did this; it was his way. 

"Just do it," he said, passing the baby back to the whore, the mother. "I paid for the rest of the night. Just keep the child quiet and rest."

"I didn't ask you to save me," she said indignantly.

Was her name Beth? Or Lacy? Maybe Sue. He couldn't remember. He had lost care for her name as soon as the madam said it. It hadn't been about her. Only his needs. 

"No one ever fucking does," Tommy said as he pulled the half used cigarette from his mouth and extinguished it on the bedside table. 

He took his wallet and threw down some money. He started to dress as the woman nervously paced the room. 

"Monday," he reiterated, pointing to the angry woman and the baby. "Her name is Clara."

He disappeared like smoke, blending back into the night. He and the other patrons moved quickly with their head down as they passed one another in the hallway. 

He didn't know why he helped her. Only that he felt he had to, so he did. Another mouth to feed. Another body to warm. Another set of pleading eyes when things went wrong, and they always went wrong. 

How high was his body count now? How many people did he allow to depend on him?

He had lost himself in the pleasure for a brief moment, only for the world to crash down around him. Only to remember who he was and what he always had to do. 

His mind wandered as he walked the dark streets home. 

His family were in their various houses, sleeping soundly no doubt. Arthur curled against his pious wife, using her as a lightning rod for God's redemption. John no doubt encircled around Esme and her constantly round belly. His children splayed all over the house like the Russians after an orgy. Ada and Carl in their rooms in London sleeping soundly. Polly dreaming up God knows what in her fitful sleeps, visited by whichever ghost will tell her the future and which way to guide the family. 

And Charlie, sleeping soundly in his bed,  unaware of the atrocities his father did daily and the gross acts he committed with strange women to have a moment of peace in his own mind. 

Tommy feared when his son would get old enough to know what he did -- what he really did -- and how he was able to go from a poor traveling family to an OBE in one generation. Tommy didn't look forward to the day his son realized his goofy uncles had blood on their hands because of him.

He knew he was cursed. He knew that those closest to him only lived so long, and the more he fiercely loved a person the faster they died. Tommy knew this. 

You don't pass by the devil and shake his hand that many times without getting some death and knowing about you. 

And by now, Thomas was rife with it.

There were days he wished he could sleep as soundly, that food tasted as flavorful, that he could trust that someone else would pull him from the muck and make everything alright. He yearned for a day that he could turn off his brain and live, but Thomas only had himself. 

So was his curse.

[gravelyhumerus]

“just like a folk song (our love will be passed on)”

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Relationship: Jemily

Summary: Pregnant? Off a one-night hookup that convinced her that the relationship wouldn’t go anywhere? Impossible. Improbable. Unlikely.

Word count: 3,086

Read it on AO3 

Chapter One, Chapter Two

Content warning: mentions of Emily’s abortion and discussions of some canon typical violence.

Sitting at the edge of Emily’s large, porcelain bathtub, JJ wrung her hands. She hadn’t planned to take the pregnancy test that morning, but she had barely slept the night before. Her anxious thoughts kept her tossing and turning, wondering if she was pregnant or not. 

What would she even do if she was pregnant? What would she say to Emily?

It was their first weekend off in over a month, and instead of relaxing with her girlfriend, JJ was more stressed than she was when she was actively chasing down the worst of humanity. An unsub holding a gun to her head was not nearly as terrifying as this moment, as JJ sat and waited for the little plus or minus to tell her whether she was going to have a baby. 

The test rested on the tub next to her. JJ kept her eyes away from it, watching the two minute timer tick down on her phone. 

Emily spoke from just outside of the bathroom: “Hey, are you struggling with the shower again? I know it’s annoying, I can turn it on for you.”

JJ stiffened, realizing that she hadn’t turned the water on yet. She had told Emily she was showering as a cover for taking the test, then she hadn’t done the one thing that would hide the truth. 

She hated keeping all of this from Emily. Even when they were just friends, JJ found herself telling Emily everything. But, she still wasn’t sure how on earth she would tell Emily about the situation, either way. 

The profiler knocked again and said: “JJ?”

JJ tried to speak but let out a strangled noise, her voice unexpectedly thick with emotion.

“Are you ok?” Emily asked. “Are you still not feeling well?” 

The door opened a crack.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was soft, caring. The sound of it felt like a hug. 

“Yeah,” JJ managed. 

Emily stood in the doorframe, taking in the scene in front of her, her eyes filled with concern. She looked JJ up and down, then flicked around the room until they rested on the pregnancy test. 

“Oh,” Emily said. 

JJ could see the thoughts racing through Emily’s mind. The brunette’s brow furrowed as she processed the information. Then, Emily seemed to make up her mind, walking towards JJ and sitting on the toilet seat lid. She took JJ’s hand in hers.

“Is it mine?” Emily asked as a hint of a smile pulled on her lips. 

JJ  let out a sigh of relief at how calm Emily was with being confronted by her maybe-pregnant girlfriend in her bathroom. 

The timer went off on her phone. Emily squeezed JJ’s hands tightly. It was time to look.

“I’m pregnant.” 

———

Three tests later JJ was very much pregnant, and Emily was not quite sure what to say. They had just started to date, and she had no idea what this meant for them. 

When Emily asked how this all came to be, JJ explained that she had only spent one night with Will, back when she and Emily had just been friends. It was a relief to hear, especially when fearing the worst, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less complicated. 

Emily was forcing herself to tuck all her feelings away to be there for JJ through this, even if only as a friend. She would be whatever JJ needed. 

As the frenzy of the tests subsided, the two women sat in silence eating the scrambled eggs that Emily had managed to make for lunch. She wasn’t a good cook, but she felt the need to keep busy and keep her whirlwind of a brain at bay. JJ had a panicked look in her eyes. She was almost vibrating with anxiety, so Emily tried to keep her calm if only with her presence.

But there was only so much she could do before the questions came tumbling out of her mouth. 

Emily decided to give JJ an out. A free, no hard feelings free pass out of the relationship. JJ was pregnant for God's sake, she wouldn’t want to stay with Emily. She just needed to let JJ go. Their relationship was new, barely started. It would be a clean break. 

“You should call him,” Emily said, her voice calm, measured. “Tell him about it.”

JJ’s eyes shot up, and she squinted at Emily in confusion.

“Why? I’d rather talk about what this means for us.”

“What do you mean by us?”

JJ set her fork down on her plate and reached across Emily’s wooden kitchen table. 

“You’re my girlfriend, Emily,” JJ said. 

Emily blinked. They weren’t over after all. 

“Oh my god, Emily, no,” JJ said, standing up and walking over to her. Her hands grasped Emily’s face to pull her into a kiss. “Did you think–”

“I thought that you wouldn’t want...” Emily gestured vaguely, “Me, I guess.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” JJ said, kissing Emily’s forehead.

JJ pulled away, wrapping her arms around Emily’s neck. In exchange, Emily rested her hands on JJ’s hips. 

“I just,” JJ said, her voice almost a whisper, “I don't really know what to do. This is a lot. For me, for us.”

“Think about it,” Emily suggested. “You don’t need to make any decisions when the information is fresh. You’re probably still in shock.”

An unspoken understanding passed between them. Emily knew exactly what JJ was going through. But instead of being a struggling sixteen year old in Rome, she was a 27 year old FBI agent with a stable job, a home and a girlfriend. Still, Emily knew that fear and uncertainty intimately. No matter the circumstances, it was absolutely terrifying. 

 “You’re right,” JJ said. 

JJ pressed a soft kiss onto her girlfriend’s forehead. Emily’s eyes flickered closed as she leaned into the gesture. 

“Thank you for being you, Emily.”

———

That night, both agents lay awake late into the night. The only light came from the streetlights below them, illuminating the room in a dim warm glow. The familiar sounds of the busy Washington, DC streets were faintly audible. It was peaceful, yet the weight of the day’s events was heavy on their minds.  

JJ’s blonde hair tickled Emily’s nose as she buried her face in her golden locks. Her arms wrapped around her girlfriend's smaller frame, their bodies fit together perfectly. While JJ’s breath came evenly, Emily could tell that she was still awake. 

Emily’s fingers were intertwined with JJ’s, and the media liaison rubbed her thumb along the back of Emily’s hand. The gesture was subtle, but let her know that JJ wanted her there, wanted her to stay close. 

The whole day brought back memories for Emily. Hard memories. But it wasn’t about her, it was about JJ. She needed to keep it together. 

JJ wasn’t some lost teenager like Emily was. They would be okay, no matter what. At least, that was how Emily reassured herself. 

Emily didn’t regret her abortion at all. She was able to live her full life because of it. She wouldn’t have made it to where she was now, without her friend Matthew. When she closed her eyes, she could almost picture him with his floppy hair and earnest eyes, squeezing her hand, telling her it was all going to be okay. That was the beginning of the end of her drought relationship with religion, because she knew people like her weren’t welcome there. 

She knew JJ hadn’t grown up with the same religious upbringing that she had. Sure, the Jareaus went to church on Easter and Christmas, but Emily knew she wasn’t raised in the same strict Catholic environment like she experienced with Elizabeth Prentiss, especially when they lived in Rome. Not that that made the decision any easier, but at least the weight on JJ’s shoulders wouldn’t be as heavy. 

Maybe JJ would choose not to have the baby. It was an accident, after all. And with their relationship still in its infancy, there was a lot that could go wrong. That didn’t even factor in that they were FBI agents who fly across the country every few weeks. 

Keeping it was a whole other issue. Emily had thought of having children, had always wanted to. With every case involving an orphaned child or one in foster care, something inside of Emily yearned to just take the child in her arms and protect it from the world. 

“I think it's a good idea, though,” JJ had said to her on the jet.

“What's that?” Emily asked, looking across at the blonde.

“You. Kids. I can see it.”

The comment made something in Emily’s stomach flutter.

“Yeah?”

JJ nodded. Emily looked out the window, deep in thought. At the time, she wouldn’t let herself imagine that with JJ, it seemed so far fetched. So impossible. 

Now, with JJ in her arms. Emily could see it too.  

“Either way, no matter what,” Emily found herself whispering before she even planned what she was going to say. “Just know that I’m not going anywhere.”

Emily squeezed JJ tightly, kissing her shoulder and smiling. She meant it. There was something about their relationship, albeit newly established, that felt so right. 

JJ didn’t react at first, and for a moment, Emily wondered if she had fallen asleep. Then, she heard JJ swallow before speaking. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a mom,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Emily pulled her closer.

[damndanielricciardo]

Get to know meme

I was tagged by @sebfreak ty so much <3

What colour are your eyes? brown

What instantly tells you if a person is good? Normally from how they interact with other people I can get a good vibe of how they are

Do you have a recurring dream? Sadly yes, not very nice ones though ever since my dad died.

What is the most interesting class you have taken? Overall history was my favourite class in school which is why I went and did it at uni and then onto postgraduate study. My favourite class I ever took was about people on the Soviet Union under Stalin and we would look at a different person each week either their diary’s or published writings. I don’t know why I found reading the everyday thoughts of ‘average/normal people really insightful. Plus the lecturer we was one of my favourite professors ever.

How often do you find yourself day dreaming? probably every five minutes. I very much live in my own head.

Name/Nickname: Hannah, some of my friends call me Han for short or people at work call me Montana (because Hannah Montana? Yeah I don’t find it funny either😂)

Zodiac: Libra

Height: 6 foot exactly.

Nationality: British

Favourite colour: yellow

Favourite season: Autumn, I love big cosy jumpers, hot coffee, misty mornings, Halloween and autumnal colours!

Favourite animals: penguins

Favourite fictional characters: ooo so many, my favourite of all time is probably Dr Spencer Reid from Criminal minds but honourable mentions include Kid Kat from Animal Crossing, Razor from Genshin Impact or Draco from Harry Potter.

Tea, coffee or hot chocolate?: Coffee!

Average hours of sleep?: about 6

Cat or dog person: Cat

Number of blankets slept with: 3

Places ancestors are from: my family tree is traced back to the Nordic states

Dream trip: at the moment I have two, to travel the east coast of America or a road trip around Scotland.

Blog established: 2021

Random fact about yourself: I always say I’m very vanilla and not that interesting, maybe I should be less harsh on myself.

Three ships: F1 wise, Maxiel, Carlando and Seb and Mick.

Last song: Flames by Mod Sun

Last movie: The Fear Street movies on Netflix

Currently reading: at the moment nothing, but I did buy some new books the other day.

Currently watching: Sex Education

Currently craving: Always Chocolate

I tag: @umflowers @woahf1 @landinoandco @coffee-at-chanel @towhomitmayconcernf1

<3

[captainjaspenor]

Fire in My Bones - Chapter 4

heFirst of all, I want to say a huge apology for the wait. First I moved, and then I had to get settled in, and then I was job hunting and before I knew it weeks had flown by. I worked on this slowly the entire time though, so it was never abandoned. Also, I have been working on a Last Kingdom (Finan x Reader) story that was stealing some of my attention. 

Anyway, thank you all for being patient. I appreciate all the nice things you guys have been saying about the previous chapters! I hope this next one doesn’t disappoint. It does have some action in it for you too!

Surprisingly no one guessed last chapter’s song title which came from “I Know Places” by Taylor Swift. As usual, if you know this week’s song title comment or message me and you’ll get a shoutout. 

Title: Fire in My Bones

Show: Cursed

Pairing: Weeping Monk x Reader

Warnings: Blood, mild violence, language, mentions of death and dying

Summary: “From the trees, shrouded in smoke, he emerges. The Weeping Monk. Around you the terrified screams of the Fey and the pained groans of the dying fade away. You forget the acrid smell and taste of the smoke and ash as it burns your throat and lungs. You forget Nimue, who is hiding behind you, clutching at your cloak, shaking like a leaf.”

Chapter 4: I’m Burning So Deep That Just Breathing Hurts

Note: For the sake of the story, I assumed that Episodes 3&4 happened on two different days.

You wail as your teacher drags you by the arm into the hut where your father holds his council. You’d begged your teacher not to involve your father, but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. 

Your father is standing on the far side of a large wooden table, which is currently covered in rolled out maps. Around him, his war council discusses plans. At the sound of your intrusion, your father looks up.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demands.

Your teacher stands straighter, but his hold on your arm only grows tighter. “May I have a word with you, Lord?” He glances at the other men in the room. “Alone.”

Your father glares down at you and you try not to cower under his scrutiny. With a flick of his hand he dismisses the others and they make a quick exit. Your father’s temper is legendary. “Speak,” your father says.

Your teacher steps forward and gives you a shove. You stumble but manage to stay upright. “Go on, (Y/N),” your teacher demands, “Tell him what you told me.”

Your lower lips wobbles, but you don’t cry. It will be worse if you cry. “I don’t want to do the lessons,” you admit.

“Why not?” Your father comes around the table to stand in front of you. “I – I–” you stutter, unable to get the words out now that he’s towering over you. 

“She says she’s afraid of fire. What kind of Fire Folk is afraid of fire?” your teacher scoffs.

“You’re dismissed,” your father says, not taking his eyes away from yours. You’re teacher starts to say something, but your father cuts him off. “Go.” His tone leaves no room for further arguments. Your teacher exits, and though you hate him you wish he’d stay. Because you know what’s coming next. 

Still, the ferocity behind the smack catches you off guard. He’s hit you before, but never this hard. “Get up,” he grabs your by the back of the shirt and half drags, half pushes you out of the tent and into the center of your village. “No daughter of mine is going to be afraid of fire,” he snarls in your ear. The people do not so much as glance at the two of you as they pass, knowing that if they do they risk bringing your father’s wrath down on them as well. 

In the center of town stands a large pillar, where criminals and prisoners of war are tied up and tortured. And if they’re not fire folk, burned alive. You realize your father’s intention now and you begin to struggle.

“No,” you claw and kick and scream, “I’ll do the lessons, I swear I’ll do the lessons,” you sob in fear, “Father, please! I swear I’m not afraid, I swear.” But it’s no use. 

Your father clutches your wrists in one strong hand while using the other to wrap a thick iron chain around them. You try to pull free, but he’s too strong and the chains are locked in place. Your father walks over to a large pile of kindling kept nearby for just such occasions and begins to pile it around your feet. You beg and thrash and fight, but the chains hold and so does your father’s resolve. At last he comes to stand by you. He roughly grabs your tearful face with his hand and forces you to look at him. 

“You are to fear nothing and no one,” he hisses. You sob harder as he creates a small flame under your feet. It doesn’t take long to spread and soon you’re engulfed in flames. You scream in fear as the flames lick your legs and burn away your clothes. You can see nothing but smoke and you feel the warmth from the fire around you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, an hour, maybe two? You scream and howl until your throat is raw and no sound will come out. Eventually the flames begin to subside taking your tears along with them. When the fire goes out you’re left naked and covered in ash and soot, but still chained. Your wrists are red, raw, and burnt. You wish one of the passing village people would unshackle you, but you know you won’t be freed until the sun sets. Father’s orders. 

You shiver in the cold for hours watching as the sun slowly creeps lower in the sky. The moment the last sliver of sunlight disappears over the horizon your mother is there. She removes the chains and bundles you up before carrying you towards your family’s tent. Her gentle, soothing touch is welcome. 

“Why does father hate me?” you whisper to her as one fat tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh, (Y/N), your father doesn’t hate you,” your mothers says, “He loves you, very much. He just…Training you to be a warrior is the only way he knows how to be a father. To him, forcing you to face your fears is his way of showing you that he loves you. Do you understand, little one?”

“Mama? I’m not scared of fire,” you confide, “I’m scared because sometimes I can’t control it.” 

“You should be afraid,” she says. You must look surprised because she adds, “Fire is dangerous, (Y/N).  Fire Folk can create fire and manipulate it, but we can’t put it out once it starts to burn. And though we cannot burn, humans and the other fey can.” Her tone grows stern. “That’s why you must only use fire as a last resort.” You nod and she kisses your forehead softly. 

“Mama?” you ask, as the two of you approach the tent. “If fire can’t hurt me then why am I burned?” You hold up your blistered wrists.

“The chains your father used are iron. Iron is the only thing that can burn us. Remember that, (Y/N), but never tell another soul. If the other fey—or gods forbid, the humans—found out, they’d use it against us. 

_

You wake before the monk does. It’s no surprise considering you’re sleeping on the hard floor. You sit up and stretch to loosen up your aching body. It’s been awhile since you’ve slept somewhere this uncomfortable. You pull the blanket up around you to ward off the early morning chill. In the corner the torch still burns, allowing you to watch the monk as he sleeps. 

He looks different when he’s asleep. Peaceful, almost. You don’t know how long you watch him sleep, but eventually his steady breathing becomes shallower and he begins to stir. His eyes open and meet yours. 

“How long have you been staring at me?” he asks, sitting up.

“Long enough to know that you drool in your sleep,” you say. 

“I don’t drool,” he dismisses. He’s right. He doesn’t, but you might be right now. Down to nothing but his undershirt – black, of course – you can see practically every muscle move when he so much as breathes. You nearly moan when he lifts an arm to run a hand through his bound hair. You continue to stare, unabashed, but the monk seems uncomfortable with your scrutiny. He looks down at his hands and picks at the bandages with his fingers. 

“Can I take these off?” he asks.  

“Yes,” you say, though part of you wants to offer to do it for him, just to be able to touch him again. 

He begins to fiddle with the knot you tied in the bandage, but with only one hand he struggles to undo it. After a few futile attempts, he sighs. He looks up at you and you can see the question in his eyes. You debate making him say it out loud, but he looks so pitiful, you give in and go to him. 

He makes a move as if to stand, but you shake your head. This time you don’t hesitate to take your place between his legs as you take his hand and begin to untie the small knot at the base of his wrist. He shifts and little and his thigh brushes your hip. Your fingers fumble and you pray he doesn’t notice. 

“I have to leave the abbey today,” the monk says in a voice not much louder than a whisper. 

You continue to slowly unwrap the bandage. “Why?”

“We’re going to ride out and search for the witch. She can’t have gotten far,” the monk says.

At first you don’t answer. Instead you methodically finish unwrapping the first bandage. You observe your handiwork, happy to see that the blisters have healed nicely. They’ll still be tender, but they won’t impede any movement. You move on to the next hand. “How long will you be gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. Once again you remain silent. You finish the second hand faster than the first and step back to allow him to see the results himself, but he keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says.

Somewhere in the back of your mind your father’s voice echoes: No one will ever come back for you. 

You nod and gather the dirty bandages. You drop them on the chest the empty mortar and pestle.  As his prisoner, you really shouldn’t be upset that your jailer is telling you that he won’t be around in order to keep an eye on you today, but somehow you are. 

You observe the monk. He’s still sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, looking at his nearly healed hands. You notice his hair is still ruffled from sleep and you fight the urge to cross the room and brush it back. You glance down at the bed and notice a red stain.

“You’re bleeding,” you say. 

The monk looks at his shoulder and presses his fingers to the wound. They come away red. “Well, you did stab me,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You haven’t gotten it stitched yet?” The monk shakes his head and you let out a frustrated noise. You grab the leftover sutures, needle, and cloth Celia left behind and place them on the bed next to him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks as you thread the needle.

“I’m going to stitch it for you,” you say. The monk seems surprised by your answer. “Take your shirt off,” you demand and you place yourself between his legs once more. 

“No,” he says. “You can stitch it, but I keep my shirt on.” 

You shrug and he unlaces his undershirt as far down as it will go. He pushes the fabric to the side to reveal the bloody wound.

“You idiot,” you chastise him as you begin to clean the area with a damp cloth, “You’ve let it bleed for two days? Do you want to get an infection?” The monk looks a little embarrassed by your scolding and opens his mouth to interrupt, but you shush him. “I don’t want to hear any excuses from you.” Once the wound is clean enough you carefully prod at the edges. The wound isn’t large but it’s deep. You feel bad that you’re the one who gave it to him. Almost. 

“Well?” the monk says when you finish your inspection. “Am I going to live?” he asks sarcastically. 

“You’re lucky I wasn’t trying to kill you, Monk,” you quip. “The dagger missed all the big veins and arteries and only hit muscle. It’ll take time to heal, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage.” You wish you had something to sterilize the wound with, but you’ll have to make do with water. If the needle going in and out of his flesh bothers the monk, he doesn’t show it. 

You work in silence for a while before asking, “Is Father Carden going with you?” The monk nods. “He must really want this girl dead,” you say.

“She killed one of our brothers,” the monk explains.

“Really? How?”

“She strung him up with branches. The branches were…inside of him,” the monk says.

Your sewing falters. “That is… considerable magic. What else do you know about this Wolf-Blood Witch?” You try to keep your tone neutral.

“Nothing more than what I’ve already told you,” the monk admits. “She told the abbess that her name is Alice, but that’s probably a lie.” You make a thoughtful noise and continue your stitching. You remain silent but your mind is racing, trying to use what little clues you had to figure out the identity of the fey girl in question. Whoever she is, you hope she’s gotten herself far away from here.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks. You shrug so he continues, “Why are you helping me?” 

You consider the question. “My mother used to tell me…” You clear your throat, talking about her is always hard. “She told me that there is a time to kill and a time to heal, and that it’s important to know the difference.” You can tell he’s not satisfied with this, so you elaborate. “You let me live. True, I’m a prisoner, but I’m alive. And I don’t know if it’s for some sadistic reason that I’ll find out later, but so far you’ve been…kind to me.” You make the mistake of looking into those striking eyes of his. His expression is unreadable. “And I don’t like seeing you—I mean, seeing anyone–hurt when I can help,” you stammer. Smooth. You force yourself to break eye contact and go back to stitching. You can feel the monk’s eyes burning into you, but you refuse to look up until you finish the last couple of stitches. 

Finally, you tie off the last suture. You have no excuse to avoid his gaze now. “I’m done,” your voice is nearly a whisper; the two of you are so close.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” For a brief moment you think you see something akin to tenderness in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say more, but the door opens and Celia comes bustling in. You step back and the monk’s face is a mask once more.

“Oh.” She stops and takes the two of you in. “I’m sorry, but Father Carden has asked for you,” she says to the monk. She gives you a look before adding, “I’ll wait outside.”

The monk stands and laces up his undershirt. He dresses quickly, avoiding eye contact to your disappointment. The finishing touch is his sword belt. As he straps it on, he finally looks at you. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says before leaving once more. You feel almost as if he’s taken your heart with him, but you remind yourself how foolish that is. 

You gather up the bloody rags and discarded needle and place them on the table along with the mortar and pestle. The door opens and for a moment you think it might be the monk returning, but it’s Celia. She doesn’t say anything as she begins to collect up the used supplies. 

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” you try to explain yourself. 

“You helped him.” It’s not question.

“It was the right thing to do,” you say. 

Celia cuts you off. She seems almost subdued. “(Y/N), I’m not judging you. I understand what it’s like to…want something that you shouldn’t,” she says. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“It’s Morgana,” she admits, “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday. I’m worried something bad has happened.” 

“I don’t know Morgana personally, but from what you’ve told me, she seems like she can take care of herself,” you say, but she doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, Celia,” you take one of her shaking hands in yours. 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” She smiles softly at you. “I have to go. Father Carden has called for us to gather in the courtyard, but I’ll return later with lunch.” Once again, you are locked in and alone. 

_

Time passes slowly as you wait for Celia to return. You run through a few basic exercises and try to loosen up your sore muscles, but that doesn’t take long and before you know it you’re back to square one. 

Eventually your mind wanders to the monk. He’d said come back as soon as he could, but every bit of training in you screams not to believe him. He could leave you locked in here for days, weeks, even months if he wanted to. He could starve you or let his brothers torture you for information about the fey. He could kill you. And he has no reason not to. You want to believe that the two of you have some sort of mutual respect, but you can’t really trust that after having one – okay, maybe two – conversations with him. 

Your head wants to find a way to escape, but your heart wants to stay and wait for the monk to return. If he returns. If you’re going to escape then this evening will be your best opportunity. You have to assume that most of the Red Paladins are with Father Carden and the monk, searching for the Wolf Blood Witch. Now that you’re hands aren’t bound, you can take on at least a few brothers even if you don’t currently have a weapon. They abbey is a maze and you’ve only been led through it blindfolded, but you can find your way out one way or another, even if you have to persuade one of the brothers to show. 

In the end it’s your loyalty to Nimue that sways you. You know that you owe it to her—and Lenore—to do your best to get out of here and find them. You study the lock on the door. You’re pleased to discover that it appears easy enough to pick given the right tools. You look around the room, but there’s nothing small enough to fit through the keyhole. You dig through the trunk at the base of the monk’s bed, but only find a couple of dusty blankets. Frustrated, you return to the bed and sit. If you can’t find something small enough to turn the tumblers in the lock then any future plans are futile. 

Thankfully you don’t get to wallow in self-pity long because the lock clicks and Celia enters. _

The man screams and begs for mercy, but the monk runs him through anyway. He’s used to killing men as they beg for their lives. It doesn’t bother him anymore. Almost. He turns and walks away from the body. He digs a stained rag from his pocked and begins to methodically wipe the blood from his blade. 

He approaches one of the brothers standing by. “The caravans are run by a man named Dizier. Drives a wagon full of leather goods. Go,” he dismisses and the brother exits to spread the word. 

The monk sheathes his blade as Father Carden approaches from behind. “How many?” the older man asks. 

“Just one. A Tusk,” the monk reports as he uses the rag to wipe any remaining traces of blood from his hands.  

Father Carden nods, pleased. “Still, another smuggler off the road.”

“I found something else.” He leads Father Carden to the trees lining the road, nodding towards the symbols hidden among them. “They’re in the trees and on the ground,” the monk says as he stops to gently run his fingers over one of the intricate spirals. 

“What are they?” Father Carden asks.

“Directions.”

“To where?” 

“I only have pieces,” the monk admits, “Somewhere north. Toward the Minotaur. A sanctuary. The caravans, they move one, two at a time, but this… This is where we’ll find them all. And I know someone who can take us there.” 

_

You’re surprised to see that Celia’s been crying. “What is it? What’s wrong?” you ask as you go to her. You guide her to one of the stools and take the plate from her hands, setting it on the table. 

Celia tears start anew. “The Red Paladins took the abbess. They drug her away and put her in a caravan. Father Carden said she’s to be punished for harboring the Wolf-Blood Witch. He’s going to have her killed,” she weeps. 

You take her into your arms and whisper reassurances. You know what it’s like to have someone you care about taken away from you suddenly and you know that nothing you say can actually help, but you try anyway. 

Eventually her sobs subside to small sniffs and she pulls away. Her face is tearstained and blotchy. “There’s something else.” You raise your eyebrows at her, indicating she should go on. “Morgana’s left the abbey.” 

“How do you know, I thought she hadn’t been seen since yesterday?”

“She came back, but now she’s gone again. I think she blames herself for the abbess.”

“The abbess? Why?” you ask.

Celia lowers her voice, even though you’re the only two in the room. “She’s the one who was helping the girl, Alice.” 

“And where has she gone now? Morgana.”

“There’s this place she’s been talking about, a sanctuary for the fey kind.”

“Nemos,” you mutter.

“You know it?” Celia asks, perking up. “Have you been there?”

“Once,” you sigh and take a seat on the other stool. 

“And Morgana? She will be safe there?” Celia asks, hopeful.

“As safe as any fey, I suppose. But Celia, these are dangerous times for the fey and those who help us,” you warn her.

“I know. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge,” Celia admits. She tears up. You suspect that Morgana may mean more to Celia than she’s let on, but you don’t want to pry. 

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” you reassure her. “Morgana seems more than capable of taking care of herself. After all, she snuck the Wolf-Blood Witch into the abbey right under the Weeping Monk’s nose,” you joke. It works and Celia cracks a smile. 

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a while as Celia composes herself.  

“She asked me to go with her,” she finally says. 

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid,” Celia says, “I still am. Part of me wants to go after her, but I’ve never lived anywhere but this abbey. I’m terrified of the world outside of these four walls. And the sisters, they’re my family! I can’t just abandon them.” 

It’s not your place to try and change her mind, but still you ask, “And can you live knowing you may never see Morgana again?” Celia doesn’t respond, probably because she doesn’t know the answer herself. “Look, Celia, I can’t tell you what’s the right choice here, but I want you to know that it’s okay to want something good for yourself. It’s okay to choose love,” you tell her. Celia glances at you shyly at your use of the word “love” but you give her a reassuring smile. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits.

“You don’t have to decide now. Think it over. Sleep on it. You can still go tomorrow if you want.” 

With that the two of you lapse into casual conversation while you devour the lunch Celia has brought you. It’s a slab of meat with some bread and cheese. Nothing fancy, but you’re grateful all the same. It’s during one of Celia’s long-winded answers about one of the sisters at the abbey that you notice it: two small wires coiled tightly around the handles of the handmade utensils you’ve been using to cut the meat. You try to keep your face neutral as you mentally judge about how long the wires will be once unwrapped and straightened out. By your calculations they should be just long enough to use to pick the lock. 

Nonchalantly you nod along to Celia’s story while bringing the fork to your lap. You slowly unwind the wire and leave it on your lap as you bring the fork back up and stick it into the meat. You repeat the process with the knife, taking a few bites in between to avoid arousing any suspicion to what your hands are doing under the table. 

After the meal concludes you place the utensils on the plate and scoot it towards Celia, praying she won’t notice the missing wires. Thankfully she seems oblivious as she gathers up the empty plate and goes to exit. 

At the last second she asks, “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?” 

“I know you’ve probably already figured out how to escape and you’d probably succeed if you tried, but I’m going to ask you not to. I know you don’t owe me anything, but if you run the sisters and I – we’ll be punished and with the abbess gone, I’m afraid of what they might do to us,” Celia says, “If it was just me at risk, I wouldn’t ask, but I fear for my sisters. Please, try to understand.”

You think of Nimue and Squirrel, and send up a silent prayer to the gods that they’re safe and have found each other. “I promise I won’t do anything to put you or your sisters in danger.” You might have just sworn away your last chance at freedom, but Celia’s grateful smile soothes any ill feelings you have. With promises to return later with more food, Celia locks you away in your prison once more. ____ The monk watches in stony silence as his brothers pull the bloated corpses from the bloody pool of water. He can hardly believe that one girl could do this much damage. 

Next to him, Father Carden speaks, “Now this… This is a message. She taunts you, my son.” The monk always likes it when Father Carden calls him that. It reminds him of the bond the two share. One forged in blood. “She taunts you with your dead brothers.” The monk can hear the disappointment in his voice and he wants nothing more than to erase it. 

“Let us pray,” Father Carden continues. The monk bows his head in obedience. “We pray for the lost souls of our fallen brothers, Almighty Father. We beg thee purge us of our weaknesses, skin us of our mercy. Send a heavenly flame to cleanse our corrupted hearts. And should you deem us unworthy, send us your purest soldier, your avenging angel. Amen.” 

Father Carden looks at the monk expectantly. “Are you certain the girl will lead us to the sanctuary?”

“Yes.” The monk nods. “I am.”

_

You sprint through the woods, cursing silently every time you misstep and a branch snaps under your feet. You know you can’t outrun him, so instead you duck down underneath one of the large trees. A small cave has formed at the base of the trees roots, just large enough for you to crawl into. You tuck yourself in and cover your mouth with your hand to quiet your heavy breathing. You wait.  

Moments later you hear him. He doesn’t care how many branches snap beneath his feet, and each step alerts you that he’s getting closer. You try to make yourself even smaller, even less visible, if that’s even at all possible. 

Finally, you see him. You can only see from the waist down, as the roots obstruct your view, but you watch as he paces the area, most likely following your tracks. You should have covered them better, but there wasn’t time.

He turns and walks toward your hiding spot and you stop breathing all together. You pray for him to turn around and walk away, but he doesn’t. In three paces, he’s on you. He reaches down and grabs the front of your tunic, hauling you up. He easily lifts you off your feet and presses your back to the tree. He levels the tip of his dagger at your throat. 

“I’ve caught you,” your father says, “The Fire Folk have lost the battle and now I’m going to take you captive. What do you do?”

You slide one of your hidden daggers from your forearm sheathe and press it against your own chest. Your father steps back and nods with approval. “That’s right. If you’re captured, you fall on your own sword. Why?” he asks. 

“Because no one will ever come back for me.”

He nods. “Because no one will ever come back for you.”

_

You wake to the smell of smoke. You’re fully alert in seconds. After a quick dinner with Celia you’d passed out early, not having much else to do. But now something’s wrong. The smell is overwhelming and you can see tendrils of black smoke seeping through the door. You pull on your cloak and go to put an ear to the door, but you can’t hear anything. Silence. You call out and bang on your door, but still there is only silence.

You mentally run through your options. Stay here and wait to see what happens or go outside and investigate. You still have the wires from earlier and you can pick the lock, but that would mean breaking your promise to Celia. But what if she needs help? Decision made, you make quick work of the door’s heavy deadbolt. It’s all in the tumblers. Tucking away the tools in case you need them later, you brace yourself and open the door. 

A thick black cloud of smoke rushes in around you. A normal person would have trouble seeing with the smoke burning their eyes, but being Fire Folk you’re unaffected. You study the hallway; you’d always been blindfolded when you’d been led through the abbey, so you can’t be sure which way to go. A voice in your head reminds you that when Celia had taken you to bathe, she’d taken you to the left. You would guess that the bathing chambers would be towards the center of the abbey, close to where the sisters sleep. Which means the right most likely leads to a way out of here. You send up a small prayer asking Nimue for forgiveness and go left. 

Around you the temperature has risen substantially in the narrow stone hallway you sprint down. You make turn after turn hoping to hear or see someone, but the place seems deserted. You call out Celia’s name, but she doesn’t respond.  

You force yourself to stop and think. When you first arrived here Celia had led you up multiple flights of stairs, which means you’re on one of the higher floors. A light goes off in your head and you remember that when Celia had taken you to bathe she’d taken you down the stairs again, and the bathing chambers are likely on the ground floor. And if you know the monk, he’s likely chosen a room away from any one else’s living quarters. Stupid. You’ve been searching the wrong floor. 

You check the next floor down, but still have no luck finding anyone. Many of the rooms are locked and you don’t bother picking them, not wanting to waste any time. You find another staircase and continue down. 

It’s on the third floor that you check that you finally hear it. It’s faint, but you think you can hear the sound of screaming. Sweat drips from your brow and into your eyes. It glides down your cheeks and falls from your chin onto your leather jerkin. It’s hotter down here, so you figure you’re closer to the source of the fire, not that it’s a problem for you, but it could be for Celia.

You run hard, but it doesn’t seem fast enough. The heat and smoke grow more intense the closer you get. Still the cries are getting louder and clearer. You can tell there are multiple women. And they’re all screaming for their lives. As you round the last corner, you discover the screams are coming from the other side of a massive wooden door. You slam into it at full speed, trying to force it open, but it doesn’t budge.

“Celia?” you shout over the other women’s screams.

“(Y/N)?” she calls back.

“Yes, Celia, it’s me!” You press your hands to the door, overjoyed to have found her. “Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of there,” you reassure her. 

You observe the door and quickly realize that someone has put a lock on the door. No wonder the sisters can’t get out. You reach out and grab it to study the keyhole, but the metal scalds your hand. Iron. You swear violently and you drop the lock. You give your hand a few shakes in a futile attempt to cool the burnt skin. You give up and cradle your burnt hand in the other. Blisters are already forming on your palm. You hiss in frustration. You’ll have to work carefully to get the lock off without touching it. You dig out the small wires and begin to fiddle with the tumblers. 

“(Y/N), please, hurry!” Celia begs. You try to drown out the women’s frightened scream and focus on the task at hand. The lock is old and rusty and for a moment you’re worried the wires aren’t strong enough to get the job done when there’s a satisfying click. 

You wrap your cloak around your good hand and yank the lock off. Triumphant, you toss it away and shove open the heavy door. Smoke billows out at an alarming rate, proving your theory that at least one of the fires is nearby, likely started in the dorms. You step into the room, only to be met with a horrible sight. 

Over twenty sisters of different ages are gathered around the door in disarray. The women are in various states of asphyxiation from the smoke. Some of the older ones have already succumbed to it. You’d been so intent on getting the lock open you hadn’t realized the screaming had stopped. You force yourself to look away from a young girl, not much older than Squirrel, who is lying on the floor with her eyes shut, her breathing shallow. 

Behind you a weak voice calls your name. Celia is there, with her dark hair unbound, barefoot and in nothing but a thin nightgown. She has her arms wrapped around an older woman, but it’s clear the woman is moments away from death. You crouch in front of Celia and begin to untangle her arms. She tries to fight you at first, but she’s too weak from the oxygen deprivation. 

“Celia, we have to go,” you tell her as you wrap your arms around her and stand up. You have to lean most of her weight on you, which means you won’t be able to go very fast. You pray you don’t have too many more stairs to climb down. 

“What about my sisters?” she argues, “I can’t just leave them behind!” Celia begins to struggle against you.

“Celia, please! Most of them are gone already. Think about Morgana! She’d want you to come with me,” you try to reason with her. With that, all the fight leaves her body and she nods. Her breathing is becoming more and more labored. You have minutes at best. “Celia,” you shake her as she drowses, “How do we get out of here?” 

With a tremendous amount of effort she lifts her head. “Down the hall to the left,” she mumbles, “Then we go through the courtyard and take a right to the entryway.” You basically drag her down the hallway, praying for a miracle that the courtyard isn’t on fire. 

Unfortunately, the gods aren’t on your side today, because as you step through the doorway a large flaming branch from one of the trees snaps off and smashes to the ground only a couple feet in front of you. Sparks go flying and Celia cowers in fear. You hold fast and look around, searching for a way around the fire to get to the aforementioned entryway.  

What was clearly once a well-kept courtyard of flowers and trees is now completely ablaze. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s dark outside, because the glow from the fires is so intense and it bathes everything in an eerie orange glow. Plumes of gray smoke disappear into the night sky, so thick that it’s impossible to see the stars. Beside you Celia coughs and takes ragged, painful breaths.  

You take off your thick cloak and wrap it tightly around her, making sure to cover her mouth and nose. And then, you summon the Hidden. The flames in front of you part, not unlike the way the Red Sea parted for Moses. If only the Church knew… You keep an arm wrapped around her as you guide her forward. You know the cloak will not catch fire, but it doesn’t cover all of her and the exposed skin on her body has begin to blister and burn from the overwhelming heat coming from the walls of fire on either side of you. You can smell the burning flesh and hear her soft cries. You wish you could ease the pain for her, but have to settle for moving faster and calling out reassurances. 

Finally, finally, you lead her out of the small inferno and through the threshold that leads to the abbey’s main entryway. You pray from some reprieve from the heat of the fire, but inside the entryway is also ablaze. In front of you stands a massive wooden and metal door, easily three times taller than you and Celia. You pull her forward, so close to your destination, when you hear a loud crack above you. You glance up to see one of the wooden beams from the roof come loose and plummet towards you. You shove Celia back and fall to the ground, slamming your not quite healed head on the concrete floor. You see stars. For a second you feel the blackness of unconsciousness pull you down, but you fight it and force your eyes open. Your vision remains blurry but you can once again see the burning room around you. You crawl on your hands and knees to where Celia has fallen. 

You pull yourself up next to her and look at the now inaccessible exit. The massive, smoldering beam has landed right in front of the large doors, making it impossible to pull them open and escape the inferno. You pull Celia’s head onto your lap and sit her up a bit, to ease her breathing. 

She lays on the ground, your cloak having come unwrapped. Her face is dirty from the ash and smoke except for where her tears have left thin tracks. Her eyes are swollen and puffy and her hands and feet are raw with blisters. Her lips are cracked and labored breaths barely push through them. 

She takes one of your hands in her blistered ones. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” she rasps. 

Tears prick your eyes and you look up at the flaming ceiling to allow you moment to compose yourself. You look back down at her blackened face, “Yes.”

She closes her eyes and nods in acceptance. A wry smile appears on her face. “I was going to leave tomorrow. I was going to go after Morgana and tell her that I loved her.”

This time you don’t fight the tears that spill over. “Celia, I’m so sorry.”

Celia shushes you softly. “It’s okay, (Y/N). There’s nothing more you could’ve done.” You open your mouth to argue with her, but a cough wracks her body. Once the cough subsides, she continues, “I want to thank you, (Y/N), for showing me that it’s okay to choose love. I hope you’ll do the same.” Another bout of coughing has the tears streaming down her cheeks anew. “Will you tell her?” she asks, “Will you tell Morgana that I was going to find her? Will you tell her that I love her?” 

“Of course. Of course, I will,” you promise her. She gives you one last dreamy smile before closing her eyes. She lets out one last ragged exhale and is still. You press your palm to her chest, but can no longer feel her heartbeat. You cradle her in your arms and press your forehead to hers as you sob. 

You cry for Celia and all the things she never got to do. You cry for Morgana who is going to be heartbroken when she learns the truth. And you cry for yourself, for having been unable to save yet another person you cared about. 

You aren’t able to grieve long, because another large chunk of the ceiling slams into the ground a mere foot away from you. You look up and realize that the fire has eaten away at all the major wooden infrastructure of the entryway and the entire thing is dangerously close to coming down on top of your head. Fire may not kill you, but being crushed by hundreds of pounds of stone will. 

You wipe your eyes and look around for another possible exit. There has to be a window or another door around here somewhere. When your search is unsuccessful you decide you’ll have to go look for a side door in a different room. 

You carefully lower Celia’s body to the ground. You kiss her forehead and take your cloak from her, wrapping it back around your own shoulders. You stand and look down at her for the last time. Part of you loathes leaving her to burn, but she’d want her final resting place to be here: in her home with her sisters. 

Again another piece of entryway comes lose and falls next to you. You flinch and take the hint to get the hell out of there. You sprint back through the blazing courtyard and take a left, hoping to find a wall with a window. You see a couple, but both are too small for even you to fit through so you keep going. 

Around you debris is falling from the ceiling at an alarming rate. Nothing has hit you so far, but eventually you won’t be so lucky. 

You round the corner and come to a halt. In front of you there is a dead end, except for one door. You mentally map out your path to figure out whether or not this door could possibly be an exit, but you’ve never been much good at that. You decide to try your luck one last time and go for the door. 

It’s locked, of course. You take out the wires to work on the lock, only to realize that your hands are shaking. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself. It doesn’t help much, but you allow muscle memory to take over. It works, because the lock clicks open and you yank open the door to be greeted with a breath of fresh air. You nearly collapse in relief, but manage to stagger forward on shaky knees. 

You take in your surroundings. You’re not far from the abbey’s main entrance and you can spot the road you came in on with the monk. With the adrenaline starting to fade you realize that your body is bone tired. You don’t dare stop and look back at the burning abbey, because if you do you aren’t sure you’ll be able to hold it together. 

You’ve only just made it to the edge of the road when a dark figure comes thundering down the road on the back of a black beast. His cloak billows out behind him. He comes to a screeching halt mere feet from you and dismounts. In the glow of the burning abbey, you see the trademark tears of the Weeping Monk.

You stumble and he smoothly steps forward and wraps his large hands around your biceps to steady you. “You came back,” you say, breathless. 

“What happened here? How did you get out of there? How are you alive?” the monk demands to know as he takes the time to run his hands brusquely over your body to search for damage. Normally you’d take the time to bask in his attention, but your brain in still stuck on the fact that he came back. Satisfied you’re in one piece, he lets go and steps back. 

“You came back,” you repeat, dumbly.

The monk eyes you warily. “I said I would.”

You nod. “I know, but you came back.” You try to emphasize what you mean. You think you might be in shock. 

Apparently the monk does too cause he doesn’t say anything, but instead bundles you up and lifts you onto Goliath’s back. He hauls himself up behind you and turns Goliath back the way he came, this time at a much slower pace.  

_

At some point you must have dozed off, because the next thing you know you’re deep in the Iron Wood again and the monk is bringing Goliath to a stop. You ask him why. 

“It’ll be dawn in a few hours. I thought it best we make camp until then.” You accept his help as you dismount; your feet are still a little unsteady beneath you. He ties Goliath’s reigns to a nearby branch as you go and sit on a fallen tree trunk. 

You don’t say anything as the monk begins to dig a hole and line it with large stones. You watch him circle the clearing, picking up kindling. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone move with such ease and grace, even in the dark. You look away as he walks back toward you and its only minutes later before he has a sizeable fire going. He sits across from you and observes you in the orange light of the campfire. 

“What happened at the abbey?” he finally asks. You’d been dreading the question, but had known it was coming. Of course he’d want to know what happened. It’s not every day an entire abbey burns down. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I went to sleep and when I woke up I could smell the smoke. I picked the lock on my door,”—you give him a nervous glance but his expression doesn’t change—“and I went to find Celia.” The monk doesn’t say anything; instead he lets you take the time you need to relay the story back to him. When you tell him about losing Celia, you don’t even try to stop your tears. “I thought I could get her out. I thought I could save her,” you admit to him. You look up to see the monk watching you with a peculiar expression on his face, but before you can ask him what he’s thinking, it’s gone. 

“I’m sorry about your friend.” The words are so quiet you almost don’t hear them. Before you can say anything back, the monk stands and goes to his saddlebags, where he retrieves food for the both of you. He holds out your portion to you, but you don’t take it. 

“I’m not hungry,” you tell him.

“You have to eat something. Please.” The last part is an afterthought. Surprised by his use of the word, you accept the food and take small bites. 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence. After you finish you lean back and watch as the monk takes his sword out and begins to clean it. You feel a pang at the sight and you wish for your own blades. 

“I wouldn’t have killed the boy.” The monk doesn’t look up as he says this, his eyes on the cloth in his hand as it works its way up and down the blade. You hadn’t realized how sexy cleaning blood off of a sword could be. 

“What?” You’re really killing it today with the clever comebacks. 

“The one you call Squirrel. I wouldn’t have killed him. I don’t hurt children,” the monk says. You can’t help but scoff at this and he looks up, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. 

“You don’t think you hurt Squirrel when you burned down our village, murdered his father, and stole his innocence by using him as bait so you could slaughter his friends in front of him? You might not kill children, Monk, but you do hurt them.” The monk narrows his eyes at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve said too much, but his expression switches to one of contemplation and he focuses back on the task at hand. 

Again you two sit in silence. You think he almost might prefer it this way, but after a few minutes you can’t take it anymore. “Why did you come back?” you blurt out.

The monk shrugs. “I told you I would.” 

“Yes, but why?” you press, “Did you find the witch?”

The monk’s hand stills on his blade and he scowls. “No.”

Picking up on the obvious tension in his body, you ask: “Did something happened?”

The monk only grunts in response. You wait, figuring he’ll share when he’s ready. Eventually he sighs and runs a hand over his face in frustration. “She killed half a dozen brothers today.”

“With magic?”

The monk shakes his head. “She used the sword. It seems the longer she has it, the stronger she gets.” Lenore had warned you about that. She’d also warned you that the sword corrupts those who wield it. You hope whoever this girl is she’s able to overcome whatever hold the sword has over her. 

“So what now?” you ask.

“I think she’s going somewhere. A Fey sanctuary.” The monk’s eyes never leave yours, and you know he’s studying you for a reaction. You try to keep your face neutral as the he continues. “The directions are hidden in symbols in the trees and on the ground. I’ve been able to decipher some of them, but I need someone who speaks Old Fey for the rest.”

And there it was. The real reason for the monk’s timely arrival at the abbey. Perhaps even the reason he kept you alive in the first place.

“I won’t help you slaughter what is left of the Fey. Even if most of them deserve it.”

The monk cocks his head to the side. “You don’t care for your fellow fey kind?”

You chew the inside of your cheek indecisively before asking him, “Do you know why you’ve never seen a Fire Folk before?” The monk shakes his head. “It’s because the fey council had them all murdered when I was a child. Not unlike the way you and your Red Paladins have been doing to them.”

The monk seems genuinely surprised by this revelation. “How did you survive?”

“Lenore. She begged the council to spare my life. My mother wasn’t so lucky.” 

The monk places his sword to the side and leans forward, blue eyes boring into your golden ones. “Would helping me not be the perfect way to avenger her?”

For a second you’d been lured in by the sincerity in his eyes, but his words make your blood run cold. “I will not tarnish her memory by helping you wipe the fey in her name.”

“Even if refusing might cost you your life?” The monk’s words are eerily quiet. There it is. The moment you’ve been waiting for. The one where he finally starts treating you like the prisoner you are.

“Even if,” you say. 

“Why? Why are you willing to die for those who wouldn’t do the same for you?”

“I could ask you the same,” you taunt. The monk doesn’t take the bait and you sigh. “Because there are dozens of children living there. You say you don’t hurt children? Well, if I take you there then I assure you nothing will stop brothers from slaughtering every last one of them.”

“I will not ask you to help me to find the sanctuary. But I also won’t stop searching for it,” the monk warns. You nod and the tension dissipates.

You ask the monk the question that’s been on your mind since you first saw the lock on the sisters’ sleeping chamber door. “Was if you? The fire at the abbey. Was it the Red Paladins?”

The monk had been staring at the stars in the sky above you, but when you started talking he’d locked his gaze back on you. You can’t help but feel guilty somehow. Like you’re accusing him of something. Which is silly considering how many fey he’s killed, seemingly without remorse. 

“How do you know the fire was set on purpose?” he asks.

“It’s just... I know Father Carden had the abbess taken away for helping the witch. And there was a lock... on the door... which is why the sisters couldn’t get out... and there’s no way the fire spread that quickly. Someone must’ve set multiple fires all over the abbey. And I just thought... did he do this? To punish them?” Shit, you’re rambling. You can’t help it when he’s staring at you like that.

The monk seems to be amused by how flustered you’ve become and his gaze softens. “No. We didn’t do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Father Carden doesn’t do anything without a reason. And this.... what reason could he possibly have for this?”

“Okay.... You’re right.... I just... If it wasn’t you guys, then who? Who would want a bunch of nuns dead? It doesn’t make sense.”

“At first I thought it was you.”

“Me?”

“Who burned down the abbey, but then I saw how upset you were and I knew I was mistaken.”

“Why did you think it was me?”

“Because you managed to walk out of a burning building while everyone else inside died. The smoke alone should have killed you. But then it came to me: you’re immune to fire.” You tense at his words. “I’m right, aren’t I?” You nod, warily. “Do the other fey know?” he asks.

“Some. The older ones, who were alive before the Fire Fey were massacred, though I suspect many of them have forgotten. I don’t make it a habit of showing off that particular talent.”

The monk hums in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “Your secret’s safe with me.” He gives you a conspiratorial (and uncharacteristic) grin before going back to cleaning his sword. 

You stare into the campfire in front of you.  The flames dance in a hypnotic pattern, one you are familiar with. One you used to find comfort in. But now you can’t help but picture Celia’s terrified face as the flames around you came closer. You glare down at your hands in despair, blinking back tears as the sound of the women’s screams echo through your mind.

The monk must sense your distress because he leaves his spot on the other side of the fire to approach you. He crouches in front of you, forcing you to look at him. “You blame yourself.” It’s not a question. The monk continues, “You can’t save everyone.” You open your mouth to protest but he silences you with a look.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But still, you hate to admit it. And you sure as hell aren’t going to do it out loud. Instead you settle for a nod. The small gesture brings your faces closer together. The monk glances down at your lips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he says, “You should get some rest.” 

You fight back a groan of frustration as he pulls away from you and returns to his spot on the other side of the fire. Nonetheless, you obey and make a place to sleep near fire while the monk does the same. It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re not going to be able to sleep. Every time you close your eyes you see Celia’s face. You let out a soft sigh and stare at the stars overhead. You try to keep your breathing even and steady, to make the monk think you’re asleep. It doesn’t work.

“I can hear you thinking,” the monk’s voice cuts through the darkness. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you retort. 

The monk ignores you. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t,” you say, softly, “When I close my eyes I see… her.” Normally you wouldn’t be so vulnerable, but somehow you know the monk won’t judge. 

At first you think he isn’t going to say anything or that he’s fallen asleep but there is a sudden flurry of movement to your right as he stands and begins to gather his belongings.

You sit up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the monk says, “but if you can’t sleep then there’s no sense in staying here until dawn.” 

“Scared I’ll kill you in your sleep?” you tease.

The monk helps you into Goliath’s saddle and hands you the reigns as he goes to put out the fire. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to be alone with your thoughts all night,” he says, his back to you. 

You can’t say anything, overwhelmed by the tenderness you feel in your heart towards this man who should terrify you. Instead, you offer your hand to him when he returns. He accepts the offer and together you pull him up and into the saddle behind you. He settles in and wraps his arms around you to take the reigns. 

“Ready?” he asks. You nod and the monk digs his heels into Goliath’s sides, sending you galloping through the forest once more.   ____

And there it is! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Taglist: @rogershoe @nj01 @ancarwin @boredoomfm @linkpk88 @lancelotapricot @remmyswritings @archaeologydigit 

If I missed your name on the taglist, let me know. I try to keep track of them all but sometimes one slips through the cracks.

[angelthebedsheet]

“All I Wanted”

a peter 🅱️ parker x gender neutral! reader

a/n: jay’s sexc ass brain gave me the godly idea to make an angsty song based fic for pbp. we both love that himbo so here we fuckin go!!

contains angst, reader wanting pbp, established relationship, cursing but hey it’s fuckin me i curse in every fic i’ve written lmao, angst pbp lovers come get yalls juice

lets get it!

—————————————-—————————————

“Be careful out there, Pete.” You said as you caressed his cheek. He kissed your hand. “I will. I’m sorry again. I know this was supposed to be our date night and I wished I could sta—” You interrupted him. “I know. Just go, Peter. New York needs you.” You mumbled, opening the window. He frowned at you and pressed a kiss to you forehead before pulling his mask down. “I’ll see you, bugaboo. Again, I’m so sorry we had to cancel.” He whispered before jumping out of the window. You watched him shoot his webs, swinging away. You sighed and pulled out your phone to cancel yet another restaurant reservation.

Yet again, another date night was ruined by the crimes that occurred coincidentally each time. You were proud of him. You really were. He was amazing each night you watched him swing onto the scene and risk his life each time to make sure New York was save. But, you wanted to be selfish for once and try to beg him to stay for atleast one night. What did you expect when you decided to say yes to him two years ago? He was a hero and the world didn’t stop spinning. But, god did you wish it did. You wanted him to take a break.

You sighed, sitting down on your cold bed and took off your dress shoes, mindlessly tossing them wherever. You lost track of how many times you did this action. You wiped the makeup you can took your time to do off. Wasted. “All I wanted was a peaceful date night... Is that too much to ask?” You mumbled as you changed into some sweats and one of Peter’s shirts. You let your hair down and fluffed it out before walking into the living room. You plopped yourself onto the couch, toying with your ring. Seeing Peter got more and more sparse as he did his patrols and missions, but this city never slept and neither did he. You missed those nights where he would fall ontop of you and pepper your face with slobbery kisses. You missed when he’d rant about what dumb thing a criminal did or when he’d tell you corny jokes at 2am trying to get a tired giggle out of you.

You missed him. Now he would plop into bed, dead tired from getting punched from criminals and you’d massage his tired muscles, hearing a sluggish “thank you, baby.” You wished New York didn’t always rely on your tired man. He was only one person but was seen as a pillar of strength. Only you knew he wasn’t just that. He wasn’t Spider-Man when he came home to you. He was your Peter B. Parker.

You sighed as you turned on your TV. “Now on the scene, Spider-Man!” The reporter exclaimed as the camera panned to show Peter shooting his webs. Your eyes welled up in tears as you switched channels. I love you’s turned to Stay safe’s and I know’s. Was it so bad to crave more love from him? Was it so bad to want to be his main priority for the night like you used to be? Was it so bad? The world was too much on your Peter, always cutting off hours of sleep as Peter was too devoted to making sure he was blanket of security for the city. You wiped your eyes as you watched the shitty Hallmark movie that came on. You sniffed as the average brunette woman and average brunette man held hands while walking down the streets. That could’ve been you and Peter. If you had decided to beg, would he stayed? Or would he sent you that sad smile and apologize repeatedly before kissing you and slipping through your fingers like loose sand?

You lost track of time and how many shitty Hallmark movies you watched before you fell asleep. It was 1 am when Peter swang home. He cursed under his breath as he slipped through the window. He closed it behind him before noticing how your bed was empty. He looked at the time and groaned. “They’re gonna be upset.” He mumbled as he pulled off his mask. He rushed to shimmy off his spider suit, wincing every so often. He placed his suit in the hamper and he threw on a random shirt along with his grey sweatpants. He walked into the hallway, hearing the noise coming from the TV. “Baby?” He called out before walking into the living room.

He frowned as he noticed your sleeping figure, slumped to the side as your head rested on your hand. As he walked closer, he noticed the dried tear streaks on your cheeks and felt his heart break. He lost track of many nights he found you waiting for him to come home. He gently shook you, regretting the fact he had to wake you up. Your puffy eyes and bloodshot eyes fluttered open. “Hey, lovebug...” He said with a sad smile. “Oh... you’re home, Pete. Let me go get the first aid kit.” You mumbled as you got up. He sighed, knowing you’d fight him on the topic if he even tried to debate with you on it. He reached over and turned on the lamp. You tiredly walked to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit and sat back on the couch. You started to patch up the cut on his cheek, mumbling a small apology each time he winced.

“Baby I....” He started off. “Save it, Peter. I get it.” You said as you dabbed peroxide onto the cut. He winced again. “No but I need to make it up to you. I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to be with each other that often.”

“Peter.”

“And I know how much you miss spending time with me and trust me I miss you too.”

“Peter.”

“And I know how much you wanted to have this date night—”

“PETER.” You exclaimed as you shut the kit closed. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “All I wanted was you! All I wanted was to at least have one night to ourselves and everytime you promise me that you’ll find a night off you never fulfill your promise. I get that you’re Spider-Man! I know you have to save the city! But can’t you try to take a break?! I’m so. So tired of patching you up every night! I’m so tired of massaging your aching muscles every night. I miss you.” You exclaimed. He opened his mouth to speak but you held your hand up. “2 months.” You said. “What?” He questioned. “It’s been 2 months, Parker. 2 months since you’ve came home to me unharmed. 2 months since you’ve held me close. 2 months since we’ve even ate dinner together. I’ve been trying so hard to not literally get on my knees and BEG you to stay! Each time you always tell me ‘The city needs me’ but have you even thought that I need you too? I miss my husband. The citizens out there see you more than I do. I’m tired of being your medic!” You cried out as you gripped your shirt, holding the place over your heart.

Peter’s eyes watered as you continued. “Sometimes I pace around this damn place wondering if you’ll even come home to me. I always wait for you, Parker. I even start to dream about having a date with you again. I fear that one day you won’t come home and I’ll regret never begging you to stay more. Regret never holding onto you. I always have you so close then at the end of the day you always manage to slip through my fingers. When we first started dating I knew you wouldn’t always be able to stay home but I was fine with it because I was willing to wait for you. I was fine with being the second choice because you were doing so much good.” You said as you got choked up. “No no no baby you were never the second choice.” He said as he reached to wipe your tears away.

You sniffled and slapped his hands away. “You and I both know that was a lie. You never take breaks anymore. You’re so devoted to your city but is it so much to ask to have you stay home and make fun of those shit Hallmark movies with me again? Would it be so much to even ask if you could skip patrol? I feel so stupid pining for you to kiss me again, which I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be wishing for my husband to... to show me more love when you’re out there. Saving lives and I’m here staring at that damned clock waiting for you. All I wanted was you and I know that’s already so much to ask for. I’m going to bed, Peter.” You said as you stood up. “Baby please.” He said as he stood up with you. You ignored him and walked past him. He watched as your figure disappeared into the dark hallway and heard your bedroom door close behind you.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pushed his unruly hair back. He let out a shuddering sigh as he sat back down. He ran his hand down his face. “I love you.” The man on the screen said. Peter watched as the woman said it back before pulling the man into a kiss. That used to be you and him. All you wanted was him and he couldn’t even give that to you fully. He missed you too. Now the kissing couple was there mocking him. “Oooh look at us we’re so happy while you just got into an argument with the love of your life. Fuck off.” He grumbled as he roughly wiped his cheek and grabbed the remote. He shut the TV off before turning off the lamp. He sniffled and got up, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He walked down the hall and quietly opened the door. The moonlight shined through the curtains as they lightly blew from the nightly breeze.

He saw your figure facing the window under the covers as he quickly walked to his side of the bed. He carefully got under the covers and looked at your back. He scooted closer to you and gently caressed your side. “I’m sorry...” He mumbled, making you gently shrug his arm off. “Sorry loses its meaning when you repeat it again and again. Save it and go to bed, Peter.” You said quietly. “I love you.” He said as he scooted away, laying on his back. “I know.” You whispered as tears rolled down your cheeks. He wiped his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling.

“All I wanted was you.”

[elidelochans]

can we get a drabble for jurdan + this is gospel by panic! pls 🥺 CONGRATS ON 1K BABES!!!! 🥳💞💞

The Fear Of Falling Apart

Warnings: mention of death, mention of alcoholism. HEA (for the most part)

Song of choice: This is gospel-Panic! At the disco

And thank you love!!! Thanks for always supporting all my crazy ideas. p.s. Sorry if this hurts babes. I promise I have smut in my docs for you.

Jude sat in the aged recliner next to the hospital bed. Unsure of how much time had passed stuck in the cold room. Only the sounds of beeping monitors and the low murmur of tacky infomercials from the tv overhead. Then of course his breaths. Deep and shallow as he slept. The same way his chest rose and fell.

She roved over his slumbered state. Thick, soft inky black hair messily brushed to the side. A hauntingly beautiful contrast to his ivory toned skin. Which looked more on the scale of ghostly pale than a glimmering white. His lips, full yet dry and chapped. Her guess was from all the content he spilled from whatever liquor he consumed. Amber eyes moved to the various tubes connecting him to the monitor. Keeping him steady. Keeping him alive.

Jude loved Cardan. Cardan loved Jude. It wasn't that simple. 

Not where alcohol was involved. For Jude, no matter how much he loved her. He seemed to favor drinking a tad beyond it. Her pleas for him to get help fell upon deaf ears. His friends...only cared for his wallet and line skipping. They were no help to her cause. She's fairly certain the staff at Insmoor General Hospital know her by name. For how many times, Cardan had needed his stomach pumped. Like always she drove as fast as her car could go. Jude would wait for the nurse or doctor, letting her know of his condition. This time it was a nurse who approached her. The words the nurse spoke were more like sharp knives that she knew would leave scars. That would haunt her. 

"your boyfriend's heart stopped for ten minutes."

Ten minutes. Cardan had died for ten minutes. In one single sentence, her entire world shattered. The fear of him being a broken memory stole the very breath from her lungs. 

Even now when she looked at him in peaceful rest. She could picture him laying there. Motionless. No movement under the thin blankets. No beeping from the monitors letting her know he was alive. Few things frightened Jude. Losing Cardan. No matter if it was seconds or minutes. terrified in a way she could barely hold a grasp of. 

Usually, when he drank heavily, she saw red. Furious at him for indulging in copious amounts. Until the rage and anger fell away. She'd lay in bed with him. Telling him, how much it worried her. He always promised to get better. He never did. A vicious circle, a dance with death. All it would take is a misstep in the routine to slip and flip. Cardan had gone and done just that. Apart of her wanted to scream at him until her lungs burned and her cheeks turned deep crimson as they did when her frustration with him hit its highest point. Tonight the thought of never hearing his criminally wicked tongue again weighed heavier than anger. For Jude, she felt as if she was on a cliff. Mere inches from falling apart.

Her hand trembled as she reached over, slipping her hand into his. It was barely warm, like death still hung around him. Readying to take him into a permanent slumber. Jude squeezed his hand, nails digging below the skin of his fingers. He didn’t grip back. If she didn’t study his face at that moment, Jude would have never caught the slight flinch from his lids. Good. If she was lucky he would hear her. 

“Cardan,” Jude took a calming breath, running a thumb over his knuckles, “I-I don’t know what to do anymore,” the hot sting of tears burned against the lining of eyes, she swallowed thickly. It didn’t prevent the wetness trickling down her cheeks or the way her voice cracked when she continued, “I want to hate you right now,” gnashing her jaw together and then losing it,” I want to slap or threaten you. And then tell you…” another breath. Jude wasn’t sure if she felt a featherlight squeeze or imagined it, “That..that if you loved me Cardan. You would let me go. Because. Because,” her tone rose an octave too high, her lips trembled. Shaking the way her body was as her heart twisted in agony, “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. But-”

To her surprise, his hand squeezed back. Jude flicked her gaze to his eyes. The lids pulled back as he slowly blinked awake. The slow trickle of tears turned to an endless stream. Jude made to take her hand away. He held on to her. Like she was a tether to this world. To his world. A grip so tight she could feel the cool clammy sweat between their palms. He groaned trying to reach up and wipe the wetness staining her cheeks. He was still too weak and fell back on to the bed. Jude rubbed her tears away with the opposite hand. A tired grin fell on his lips.

“Jude,” Her name on his lips came out in a rasp, from sleep or what he endured she couldn't say. Cardan’s handsome features twisted like saying her name physically pained him.

Again Cardan tried to ignore the pain in his body as he attempted to rise. Jude moved to the edge of the bed thigh to thigh with him. Being this close to him. She fell off that cliff headfirst. Letting him see the damage he had done to hear that night. If this didn’t work she wasn’t sure there was anything else she could do besides walking away. Jude refused to give up. Not without one final fight. Cardan rested his head against her shoulder, an arm draped lazily around her. There was power in his fist as he clung to her. Fingers grasping at the back of her shirt. Jude copied his movements. The only difference was she felt hands running through her auburn strands in calming strokes. Her body shook against him as she finally, truly gave into the fears of what his habits did to her. Jude knew her sleeve matched his own. Soaked and used as a tissue. Cardan’s grip tightened around her with every shaky breath, every sniffle from either of them.

Jude willed herself to pull away, catching his face in her hands. Their foreheads touching and she could still smell the reek of alcohol on him. Almost like he wore it as cologne. She should ask him how he felt if he needed anything. Her emotions for once bested the thought.

“I want to hate you right now,” she choked out, biting back a sob, “because I hate what you’re doing to yourself. I hate that you’re not taking this seriously. For ten minutes. Ten minutes Cardan you died. You left me in this god damned world, you insufferable bastard. And for what?” her pitch rose with every word.

“I know.”

“I wish I could leave you. I want to,” Jude pursed her lips before continuing, Cardan only stared at where their thighs touched. She hoped it was shame that made him unable to look her in the eyes, “I’m... I couldn’t live with myself if, if, “ she stumbled trying to find the words. Too many thoughts were racing and pulsing in her mind. Jude couldn’t grasp onto one long enough to articulate it fully.

“Jude,” his eyes finally lifted under thick long lashes to meet hers. Dark circles encased around his coal eyes, “I had. No. I have failed you. And you should. I love you enough to let you go,” she was quiet, her expression unreadable as he coughed, “I know I died. Explaining it is difficult, but I know it,” gingerly he cupped her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with the tip of his thumb, “I should have stayed dead. This is a second chance. I am a sickness that needs to be cured.”

“What are you saying?”

He took in a breath and released it, “I need help.”

Jude wasn’t sure what stole the air from her lungs first. Cardan’s admittance or the way he held her. Arms wound around her like she was his lifeline, a saving grace. Like Jude was his gospel.

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[skarsgard-daydreams]

Voices Carry

Ch. 10: “Comfortably Numb”

[ Eins | Zwei | Drei | Vier | Fünf | Sechs | Sieben | Acht | Neun | Zehn | Elf ]

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: angst, blood, references to suicide, references to depression, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the (near) future

Notes: If the added warnings for this chapter are a major problem for you, I want you to know that you can message me if you have questions about the content before you read, and also that you can safely skip this one. You will not be lost when I post the next chapter. I promise. I have a playlist of my chapter title songs. This one is #10, “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd. Thank you @scxrsgxrd​ for test reading for me. If you haven’t read her Merkel fic, you’re missing out.

In the darkness, Merkel lay awake and wondered what kind of man he was. He held Irina in his arms, his fingertips brushing the ends of her hair idly as his mind fixed on the things he should have done differently. If he had been honest with her from the start, maybe he could have made her understand without ever having to hurt her. Without becoming one more force set in motion against her. He wanted to tell her he had never meant to cause her pain, but the words sounded too much like an excuse, and they remained stuck in his throat.

He watched her face as she slept, serene now, free from the darkness that hid behind her eyes when he brought her back to the apartment. She had shut down completely. Whether it was her fear of him, or her sorrow for her father, or her body simply slipping into shock from the freezing weather, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, it felt familiar to Merkel. The wall he had built up within himself was starting to fall, piece by piece. Each time he faced her grief, it threatened to wake his own lying dormant within him. And even though it hurt, he couldn’t tear himself away.

He remembered it in fragments, each of them so clear, but he could never piece together the whole picture in his mind, as though something within him had been shattered that day and could never be reassembled. He was sitting in the stairwell of the old apartment in Mitte, his back against the wall and his lanky legs pulled in against his chest, feeling nothing. He was wearing his drab walking-out uniform and had misplaced his hat. Footsteps echoed on the tile floor, slowing to a stop beside him. He saw a woman’s shoes, and the piercing blue eyes of a little boy staring at him from behind the woman’s legs. It was his neighbor, Frau Vogel. She scolded the boy for staring and continued up the stairs without another word. Merkel barely registered their presence. He was staring straight ahead at the crack in the concrete wall, seeing nothing. He had wrapped his arms around his knees and felt as though he stood on the edge of a black void that threatened to swallow him whole.

Merkel had known his father was dead before he arrived home. His commanding officer had pulled him aside before the rest of the battalion left on a reconnaissance mission and told him that there would be no funeral—that he was being given two days’ leave to bury him without ceremony. It would be simple enough. The state had already cremated the man before Merkel could think of the question: How had his father managed to hang himself in prison?

He knew better than to ask. He had been an antagonistic little punk, full of rebellion and the invincibility of youth, when he reported for his compulsory service. But he had since learned to fall in line, if only for survival. Outspoken rebellion was only so effective. If you made a target of yourself, they would make it their mission to silence you. It was better to be silent to begin with, to engage in a quiet subversion, unnoticed, but still damaging to whatever agenda was being pushed by the people in power. If it were not for the black mark of his family name on his record, Merkel would almost be a model soldier.

There had been no inflection in his voice when he called the police from the telephone booth across the street hours after he found her. Merkel said the word as if it had no meaning.

Selbstmord.

He sat at the kitchen table when they took her away. He had dropped his service cap somewhere on the floor near the body when he walked in the door. An officer with greying hair and hard eyes picked up the hat off the floor and handed it back to him. Merkel clutched it in his hands and answered their questions as if by rote.

Yes, that was his grandfather’s service revolver.

Yes, he had kept it after the war.

Yes, his mother was already dead when he arrived.

Yes, that was her blood on his hands.

No, she did not leave a note.

No, she had not said anything to him.

No, she had not engaged in any criminal activities after her release from prison.

Yes, as far as he was aware.

Yes, it was possible she plotted criminal conspiracies without his knowledge. Maybe with the ladies of her knitting circle.

No, he did not think that this was funny.

Yes, he was aware that his mother was dead.

Yes, he was taking this seriously.

No, his parents never told him the names of any of their criminal contacts.

No, he had not been aware of their criminal activities until they were arrested.

Yes, that is why he never reported them to the authorities.

Yes, he understood that made him look like a conspirator.

No, he did not approve of their criminal behavior.

Yes, he believed they deserved to be held accountable for their crimes.

Yes, he had returned on leave to bury his father.

Yes, his father had died in prison.

Yes, he meant to say his father had hanged himself in prison.

No, he did not think his father was killed by the state.

Yes, he understood how dangerous that belief would be.

Yes, he understood that the officers currently questioning him were looking out for his best interests.

No, he was not angry.

Yes, his commanding officer was aware of what had happened.

Yes, he understood that his leave would not be extended for the second death.

Yes, two days should be sufficient time to arrange both burials.

No, he could not think of a reason why she might have done this.

No, Kommissar, not even one reason.

One of the officers had offered Merkel a cigarette before they left. It took him several attempts to recall how to light a match. After he finished smoking, he had scrubbed his mother’s blood from the grooves in the floor and ripped down the long strips of yellowed wallpaper that were now permanently stained. Later, he would be reprimanded for getting blood on his uniform. He put on a Pink Floyd record and stretched out on the floor, staring at the ceiling as the waning daylight cast rippling shadows through the curtain draped over the open window. He didn’t react when the downstairs neighbors thumped a broom against their ceiling and shouted for him to turn off the music. When the record ended, he listened to the sound of the needle riding the label for hours. He felt as though the connection between his mind and his body had been severed and he might never move again.

It had been years since his mother’s death, but there were still times when Merkel found himself staring down the same black void and feeling that familiar emptiness in the hollow of his chest. He imagined his mother felt it too, after his father’s death. That perhaps it got her in the end. If Irina had not felt that darkness tonight, Merkel knew she would soon enough. As he wound his arms around her, he willed her to be stronger than them both.

German Glossary:

Selbstmord - suicide

Kommissar - officer or inspector

@skrsgardspam @b-afterhours @flowers-in-your-hayr @bebetriste @bethskarsgard @xluvparis @bskarsgardlove92 @scuba-seamus @goblincxnt @dragsraksllib @upirs @stevesharrlngtons @jj-lynn21 @scxrsgxrd @lihikainanea​ @lostartcambar @dreamtherapy @grandpa-sweaters​ @hausofobsession​ @loomiz​ @walkxthexmoon​ @ladadada-da​ @emmyrosee​ @romangodfreyownsmyass​

[marsmoonqueen]

A True Angel

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Mentions of blood, wounds and crimes (?) If you find something, send me a message.

Prompt / Summary: Reader meets Mob!Bucky for the first time.

Note: Okay so, this is something I have been imagining for a very long time; I won’t make a second part of this, but I wanted it to be here. 

At 12.03 am I arrived home, and even though it was pretty late my best friend and roommate wasn't home yet.

I have noticed that she had been acting weirdly lately, but with my job at the hospital, my classes and my love for running, I had little time to investigate what was troubling her. I felt like I was being a terrible friend, but the times I did ask her she told me everything was fine; but I knew better, and  I noticed everything, from her late arrives at nights, to how sometimes she was extremely happy… or even extremely scared; I figured it something to do with a boy, but I only received a name and nothing more. Steve.

 Anyway, after arriving home from my 12-hour shift I checked my books for my classes next day, and got into my bed with my headphones on; Not even 2 hours later I was woken up by a violent jerk.

"What- what the hell?" I asked disoriented. It was until my sleepy brain registered Peggy's tears that I completely woke up. "Peggy, what is it? Are you okay? Did something hap- who the hell is he?" I interrupted myself when I saw a blond dude standing next to my door.

Before I could ask more questions, Peggy took my arm and violently took me out of my bed. "Pegg-"

"Please help him y/n" she begged me with the blond dude's eyes shining with tears. I looked at our sofa and I found another guy with blood all over his chest and his face beaten.

My medical instinct kicked in and I threw myself to my knees and began to examine him. "Peggy, you have to take him to the hospital. Are you insane? He could die!"

"No, no hospitals" my ‘patient’ whispered after coughing violently, while I pressed a bullet wound in his right arm with one of my blouses that was in a chair next to me.

"You are in no position to argue dude." I started to evaluate the situation, he had a bullet wound in his right arm and another four in his abdomen, his legs were fine, his face, neck and clavicle were fine, and his left arm was...

"You have to help him, you are a doctor, right? That's what you do!" The blond guy yelled at me.

"Agggh, fine. Peggy bring me my briefcase from my room!" I barked at her. She ran and not even a second later I had her next to me passing me my bag. "I hope you know that if he dies in here, we are going to jail" I told her opening it and getting gloves, alcohol and a suturing kit.

"He won't die!" the blondie yelled even louder at me. I supposed they were close.

"If your friend is right, and you are as good as she says, nothing bad will happen." The man said with difficulty, looking at me directly at my eyes; blue versus y/e/c. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him until he coughed... blood.

"Damn out you two, to your room now! This is going to hurt man."

  After an hour and a half of me cleaning and stitching, bandaging and attending his wounds I finished. But of course, I couldn't sleep, I had to make sure he survived the night.

So, I stayed awake watching him breathe, checking his pressure and heart rate. Overall he was a good patient, he fell asleep as soon as I finished, but in all the time I was attending him, he didn't make a sound, just some grunts and grows from pain, given the fact that I had no morphine to give him; all the time with his blue eyes watching me intensely, but without making a sound.

Even after I finished, I left him shirtless and without pants, just with a tin blanket so he wouldn't be cold, but I could check if he had a fever or something.

 At 6.53 a.m. blondie came out of Peggy's room and took my place next to the man without even talking to me. Given the fact that it was very late, I took my books, thermo and gym bag and walked out of my apartment as Peggy was walking out of her room.

After running and showering, I went to my usual classes; Throughout the day I ignored Peggy's calls and messages, and afraid of coming back home, I asked a friend of mine, Wanda, to let me stay at hers.

 Two weeks later everything was the same I avoided my home as if it was the plague, the hospital and school being very helpful with that.  The only bad thing being that, I had already slept in the houses of all my friends, and they were getting suspicious.

The thing is that, even though I hated keeping secrets, I couldn't tell them the truth: That I was afraid of going back home, because of what I had done. Because I had helped a major mob boss.

Yeah, the moment I laid my eyes in that left arm I realized I was helping Bucky Barnes, the most feared man in New York, and after some research I realize that "blondie" was Steve Rogers his best friend, and mob ally.

A debate took place every day inside my mind, what I did, help a criminal, was wrong. But I was a doctor, my duty was to help people, and criminal or not, he was a 'people'.

The worst thing was that I couldn't get him out of my head; constantly I found myself wondering if he was okay. At first, I thought it was a medical instinct to want to know how my patient was; but after some days I realized that it wasn't the case. And that scared me deeply.

  A rainy Thursday, I found myself looking for shelter at a small coffee shop, obviously still trying to avoid my home and my best friend; I took seat in an illuminated corner next to a window, ordered, and while I waited for my lemon pie and coffee, I laid my books and report all over the table. As I started reading and making essays, I put my headphones on and played the soundtrack of "The Phantom of the Opera".

Sooner than later I saw the girl who attended meet with my pie and coffee, I was about to turn and smile to her, but a man rudely pushed her, making her throw the pie in my clothes, and the coffee in her arms and hands. Also, with the impact, my phone went flying to the floor, disconnecting itself from my headphones, and filling the room with the song "Angel of Music", accompanying the girl's apologies and cries.

I took a breath and forced a smile, the girl's hands were burning, so I asked her to go and clean up, at first she refused, apologizing all over again; but then I told her that I wasn’t mad at her and that I was a doctor, and she could get a first degree burn if she didn't check her hands.

A co-worker of her help her up and guided her to their staff room while I tried to organize everything again. Luckily my books were intact.

As I tried to reach for my phone, a man's hand got it first and offered it to me. "Maybe not an angel of music, but a true angel you are." He said as I took it from his hand. I froze at the sound of his voice. In front of me Bucky Barnes was smiling.

[kierancampire]

I am just constantly remembering things lately that i hadn't thought about in ages, things i thought i forgot and didn't even remember happening, but suddenly i am just remembering them all

My mum dated this guy, he was awful, so was his son. The guy physically assaulted my mum, and the son used to do things then blame it on us so we get in trouble, one of those "daddy's boy couldn't do no wrong" types

One time my mum went to a shop, and i remember this conversation started because i wanted to listen to this song that people said i would be too scared to listen to, it was Smooth Criminal, but a metal/rock type cover. After a bit of debate they started playing the song, thing is, we were in a small car with every door/window shut, so it was blasting and revirbirating around the car, obviously i know now that i get panicked/stressed with loud noises, but at the time, although i think it was a thing, we didn't know it was that particular issue/that bad. I remember becoming petrified, like, i felt a fear like i had never had before, i was screaming at them to turn the music off/down, but they were saying i wanted to listen to it so i had to listen, i tried getting out of the car but they locked all the doors and windows. They had just trapped me in this car with this blasting music, i was crying and screaming and so terrified and all i wanted to do was run. I still remember how loud it was, it hurt

I dunno if one of them saw my mum coming or what, but they suddenly shut off the music and let me out of the car, i sprinted to my mum, i hugged onto her so tight and i was just crying hysterically, i was crying so incredibly bad, she was pissed when she found out what they had done. Thing is, i dunno how, but maybe it was the sound, style, being trapped, or the lyrics of Smooth Criminal, but in my mind i pictured a monster with sharp claws coming into a dark room and brutally killing this lady. So when my mum tried to put me to bed that night, i started crying and was petrified to be in my bed. I ended up sleeping in my mums bed with her/her partner, and i remember them arguing about why did he do it, and he caused this, he made some excuse how it wasn't his fault and it was my fault. I think i slept in their bed for like, 2-3 weeks before my mum had enough/i felt brave enough to sleep on my own

I totally forgot about that happening, but i just remember now how awful that was at the time, just how loud the music was, it was so incredibly loud. I think that's what really started not only my issues with loud noises, but also my fear of feeling like I'm trapped somewhere, and why i get so scared/aggitated when i feel trapped. I wonder if i would be okay with loud noises/feeling enclosed had this not happened? Also, just wanna say, I'm not claustrophobic, I'm the opposite, i hate open/large spaces. But like, whether a car, a house, or large building, if i feel like i am trapped in it, i get so irritated and freak the fuck out, even getting held back in class cause a teacher wouldn't let us leave, used to get to me